


it's spaghetti kaspbrak and trashmouth tozier at your door, open up!

by Anonymous



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Rating May Change, Recovery, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier writes his own material from the very beginning and he's funny, Slow Burn, The Losers Club (IT) Love Each Other, Trauma, and it gets better!, hahahahaha, i mean . so much unresolved sexual tension, im sorry !, oh i accidentally aged them down a decade or so because im bad at history and maths, so just know: they grew up in the 90s and not in the 80s!, the good alternate universe in which all the losers live okay lives, they're so married though, theyre not super happy but theyre not miserable either and that's what matters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is 26 years old, and he has a small (purely aesthetic) crush on openly queer comedian Richie Tozier.Not that anything's going to come out of it! They're just strangers, right?Wrong!Or: Eddieremembers, and everything changes.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 103
Kudos: 303
Collections: Anonymous





	1. remembering.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. this is my first time writing clown movie fic so pls be gentle with me  
> 2\. thank u to my best friend mori for reading this first, and my best friend nif, whenever they check their email - i am sorry that my impulse control is so bad that 50% approval = green light

Eddie Kaspbrak has a tiny crush on Richie Tozier. 

This, in itself, is not a problem. On one level, Eddie can’t help but feel that it’s purely aesthetic. Eddie has a type, has had a type for as long as he could remember where men are concerned. Awkward, lanky, sincere and oversaturated with dad energy despite the fact that he’s just 26 – Eddie should’ve known from the first time he watched a video of Richie’s stand-up set that he was a goner. 

Yes, he’s engaged to a woman who reminds him of something he isn’t sure he can put a name to just yet – Myra is familiar in a way that makes Eddie feel like he doesn’t need to do the heavy lifting. Myra has a certain drive about her that Eddie can’t help feeling he lacks. Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t believe he can be brave, and that’s fine. Myra fills the gap in him where that energy should go, and okay, she can be overbearing at times, but it’s fine, right? He loves her. Really. 

It’s just. Richie Tozier is so  _ pretty.  _

There’s also something unsettlingly familiar about Richie Tozier, something that makes Eddie feel light and energized inside, maybe even empowered. It’s in the open vulnerability of his set, the way his jokes touch upon the theme of loneliness, of depression, of having undiagnosed ADHD in a small town with parents who, despite trying to be supportive, didn’t recognize it in him, being young and queer and afraid. Richie could probably make it all into a sob story if he wanted to, but he doesn’t ever do that. His jokes are always lighthearted, messy, chaotic –  _ hey, you think your life is shit? you don’t know the feeling of being 12 and being scared of clowns and wanting to break out of your own body so badly that you could set the whole street on fire with the fierceness of it, the necessity of it. I used to do this whole routine, you know? Be as irritating as possible, and when people were like, GOD, YOU’RE ANNOYING, I would always just be like, hey buddy! you only see this when I open my mouth, what do you think it’s like for Me! Try and live inside of my head, asshole!  _

It makes Eddie want to hit him. But gently, and kindly. 

It’s not a big deal, obviously. Eddie doesn’t pay it much mind. After all, Richie Tozier is a big deal – famous comedian at the young age of 26, verified twitter account with millions of followers and very vocal and enthusiastic fans, shows that get sold out very fast, and rumours of an upcoming Netflix show. Eddie’s just an average, uninteresting man with an average uninteresting job and a twitter account that he made mostly just to follow Richie Tozier. 

So he doesn’t dwell on it. It’s fine. Everyone has celebrity crushes, right? No big deal. 

Or at least, that’s what he thinks.

-

Eddie is sitting in his bedroom, watching the latest Richie Tozier installment on YouTube, on his phone. Myra isn’t here – while they’ve been together for three years, she doesn’t want to move in with him until after the marriage, and Eddie has no strong feelings either way. 

_ And it’s like, you can give the gaping chasm inside you a name,  _ Richie is saying.  _ Like, I don’t know, Rebecca or something. Aw, shucks, sorry love, is your name Rebecca?  _ A woman in the audience yells something that the camera doesn’t catch, and Richie laughs.  _ Hey, that’s cheating, Becks,  _ he says.  _ I’m the comedian, not you, c’mon, you can’t make me laugh up here. That’s my job. Me and my void of sad, we’re here to entertain you. Not the other way around. Don’t do that again.  _

Richie smiles.  _ Yes, so what was I saying? Gaping chasm that I can’t possibly name Rebecca, right. Moment of silence, please. Yes. We need to mourn the fact that I can’t even be a sad comedian in peace. Also, that I can’t name my void Rebecca.  _

Eddie smiles fondly. What a ridiculous, attractive, absurd man Richie Tozier is. 

_ But I feel it, you know,  _ Richie goes on.  _ I am a haunted house, baby. Yeah, Gerard Way’s song was about me. Can I hear a cheer from my emo kids in the audience?  _ There’s cheers and whooping.  _ Gerard, if you’re listening, please don’t sue me, I’m just a haunted house, I promise.  _

Despite himself, Eddie giggles. 

_ None of you are asking why,  _ Richie says. He pats himself on the head smartly.  _ This baby can hold so much repression in him! Man, I should do scary house tours.  _ He abruptly shifted voice into something sounding more mechanical. _ Pay some money every Friday the 13 _ _ th _ _ , welcome to the Tozier express. If you’re into horror, I’m your wet dream. Wet scream? Dry nightmare? Pick your poison.  _

Eddie blinks. 

_ I just feel them all the time, y’know, my ghosts. I see them in everyday things. There’s so much I’ve forgotten, I know it,  _ Richie says.  _ So many moments in my life, just not there anymore. Put them down for a fucking moment, and Rebecca swallows them down. Whoop! Oh, sorry Becky. I guess I did promise that I wouldn’t call her that anymore. All the same. You ever just look in the mirror, and instead of seeing what’s there, you see what isn’t? All these ghosts? Like hey, maybe I was cool shit when I was young and I just forgot!! I dream of it sometimes, you know? A little gang of us as kids, going down to the arcade, being happy. I bet I could never make them laugh. I bet they hated all my jokes, but tolerated me. That’s the trade-off! Look, I’m funny now! It just took me twenty six years to get here!  _

Eddie frowns. Something about this hits differently, like déjà vu. He knows exactly what Richie is talking about, more than ever. He can always relate to Richie, however embarrassing or weird, but this feels more personal than empathy. He drifts off a little, and when he starts listening again, Richie’s talking about some imaginary friend. It makes Eddie’s heart race for a reason he can’t explain.

_ And yeah, I’d definitely have a silly nickname for him. You know the best part of growing up? It’s knowing that you probably wouldn’t ever treat people like that again. Or maybe that’s the worst part of growing up. I’d have some embarrassing nickname for him. A pasta nickname, yeah. I would make a silly Fusilli pun but then you’d all leave, wouldn’t you? And he’d probably keep telling me to shut up. Get off on it, even, maybe. Trashmouth Tozier, that’s me. But not even one of the cool new trashcan types, you know? You should segregate your garbage, kids. That’s what I’d tell little me if I could go back in the past. Segregate your trash, Baby Tozier. Also, you have ADHD. It’s not your fault you can’t stay still, loser. _

Eddie freezes. He replays the bit in which Richie says “Trashmouth Tozier,” and what feels like the first piece of a puzzle falls into place. 

He drops his phone on the floor, and rushes to the bathroom, where he pukes his guts out into the toilet as a childhood’s worth of forgotten memories demand space in his brain. 

-

Eddie spends at least 3 hours in shock. Apparently remembering a forgotten murder clown from space and remembering all your best friends who have probably forgotten you will do that to you. 

He’s pretty sure, the more he thinks about it, that he was in love with Richie Tozier. Knowing himself well enough to know that he will have a breakdown if he thinks about this for too long, he compartmentalizes it into the area in his brain saved for things to freak out over later.

He lets himself remember everything and everyone, one at a time. He needs to hurl more than once, but he finds himself smiling and meaning it, too. There was a lot of horror and trauma that he’d forgotten, but there had been a lot of joy, too. Those were the best days and the worst days of his life. 

Eddie takes a breath, considers reaching for his inhaler. He begins to make a plan of action in his head. Some steps are easier than others, and the ones that are easy are almost ironic. 

Eddie thinks of his mother. Unbidden, a memory of Richie comes to mind. Richie with his arms around Eddie, holding him steady. Eddie remembers, more clearly than even the feeling of physical proximity and the comfort of it, the venom in Richie’s voice when he’d hissed, “I hate your mother, Eds.” 

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie had said, and he’d let Richie hold him. Both of them were pretending that they hadn’t noticed the way Eddie was shaking. 

“You don’t deserve this,” Richie had murmured, but it had felt more like he was talking to himself than to Eddie. “I mean, I didn’t know that she did  _ that _ . I didn’t know it was this bad. I wouldn’t have said those things otherwise, Eds, I’m so sorry – ”

And that was wrong. Richie was never serious or apologetic, and he’d been both simultaneously to Eddie, and Eddie had hated it. 

“Shut up, asshole,” Eddie had said almost furiously. “Talk like that about my mother and you  _ know  _ she’ll never fuck you.” 

Richie had spluttered, and made some unfunny remark about how he was the only man in Sonia Kaspbrak’s life, and it had been okay again. 

But just then, Eddie remembers Richie’s rage. Richie’s sadness. Richie saying,  _ you don’t deserve this.  _

Eddie lets himself remember knowing Richie and being in love with him. 

Eddie lets himself remember that he had best friends once. Best friends who looked out for him. Best friends who helped him survive an abusive mother. Best friends who wouldn’t want him to marry the very thing he escaped from. 

He calls Myra. She picks up on the second ring. 

“Hello, Eddie-bear,” she says, sweet as sugar, and Eddie winces. 

“I think we should call off the engagement,” he says. 

And he remembers Richie telling him that he’s brave, and takes strength from it. 

“Myra, you’re lovely,” he says, and it doesn’t even sound forced. He knows it’s the last time he has to say it, and that makes it so much easier. “I can’t do this. I’m in love with somebody else. I’m so sorry.” 

That feels easier than the next thing he does, which is open his laptop and find Richie’s email “for business enquiries only” and shoot him an email. 

_ I was watching your latest performance,  _ Eddie types.  _ and you called yourself Trashmouth Tozier, and I remembered you. I’m your Eddie Spaghetti. Please tell me that you remember.  _

After staring at it for a few minutes, Eddie types in the subject bar: NOT A HOAX: URGENT. 

Before he hits send, he wonders a little at the wording of it. He’s written that he’s  _ Richie’s  _ Eddie, which should be embarrassing, but if he’s being honest, he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t think Richie will either, assuming he remembers. 

Eddie sends the mail, and logs out of his Gmail and into his twitter. 

He begins to search for the rest of the Losers’ Club, and is surprised by how almost all of them made it big. He follows everyone who he can find online, and then begins to look up interviews. 

Eddie almost forgets to eat dinner, which would’ve been a first for him. As it is, he ends up eating almost 2 hours too late. He can’t berate himself too much, though. It’s been a long day.

He sighs, closes all 45 tabs, and opens a new tab in which he begins to watch one of Richie’s performances (not the latest one. He can’t handle  _ that  _ again.) After a few minutes of this, he opens yet another tab, and googles “different types of therapy.” He knows he could just search for therapists near him, but that isn’t going to help him unless he knows what kind of help he needs, right? 

-

There’s no response from Richie for a week. Eddie refreshes his mail constantly. He blocks Myra’s phone number, and considers blocking his mother’s number, but he knows that he has nowhere to go just yet to escape, and the last thing he wants is for his mother to stage an intervention.

He spends the time waiting for Richie to respond researching the other losers. None of them are as obvious as Richie is about it, but Eddie thinks he can see a pattern there, of the loneliness and the grief and the missing something but not knowing what it is. 

Beverly has a fashion line called “CASKETS” and one of her models displays a little coffin shaped fanny pack in the catalogue. Eddie cries when he looks at it. He remembers her, how vibrant she was, how they’d both understood each other very differently, how she’d opened up with him about her abusive dad, and he’d opened up about his abusive mother. 

He’d never come out to Bev. But he’d suspected that she’d always known. 

One of Bill’s novels – the one Eddie reads as he researches – is full of déjà vu in the same way that Richie’s set was. It’s like Bill remembers everything, but he’s forgotten that he remembers. The stories feature horrible things happening to normal children, and a pattern forming through the violence. Eddie can’t finish it, but he goes online and reads Goodreads reviews and confirms that all of Bill’s work has the same undercurrent of angry grief and desolation, of helplessness and lost youth and childhood best friends who never make it out the same as they were Before the traumatic event. 

Ben’s an architect, and he’s built plans for a spooky house that looks remarkably similar to the one on Neibolt. Eddie’s stomach flips once again when he sees it. 

There’s nothing from Stan that Eddie can determine. He seems to have become an accountant and is very well off. He doesn’t have much information up on the internet, save for one tweet from a few years ago when he must’ve been 22 that says something about “miss my best friends, can’t remember who they are.” Eddie knows that Richie’d always known Stan best out of the entire gang. They’d been best friends since kindergarten, after all. 

Mike had stayed back in Derry, Eddie remembers. Just in case. One of them had to. He didn’t have any social media, but Eddie’d grown up in Derry and he knew the community websites well enough. A little bit of digging around helped him find out that Mike was working in Derry’s library.

Eddie wanted to shoot him an email. He really did. 

But he didn’t want to have to be brave by himself, without Richie. 

He sighed, placed an order with a local bookshop for all five of Bill’s novels, and went through fashion catalogues and architecture magazines looking at Bev and Ben’s work.

None of it is as captivating as Richie, though. Watching Richie’s shows now, knowing what he knows, makes something inside him hurt. 

_ You don’t have to be alone anymore, Trashmouth,  _ Eddie wants to say. But he can’t do that until Richie gets back to him. 

So he waits. And he loves Richie from a distance. 

As you do.

-

The next day, he gets a notification that Richie’s tweeted something (yes, his notifications are on for Richie Tozier, which, now that he remembers what he remembers, is mortifying.) 

It’s a response to a fan who’s asked him whether he replies to every email that he gets. 

**not evry email,** Richie’s thread explains.  **it rlly depends on a lot of things. im not an answering machine, however i rlly luv talkin to u guys, so. as much as i can, i do. i find it easier to interact on twitter, tho – more manageable.**

**i also rarely check my emails or respond to them during tour time. it just makes me anxious, u feel?? plus, if ur sending me an email, be aware that multiple ppl on my team will probably read it. theyre all a+ and wonderful & i trust them w/ my life, quite literally, so u don’t need to worry abt confidentiality or w/e **

**just… be aware of that. also know that if you’ve sent me an email, i WILL get 2kno sooner or later. and i will probably adore u 4evr. even if i don’t respond.**

It’s weird, Eddie thinks. The softer side of Richie Tozier, the side that used to belong to the losers only, is suddenly open on display, entirely public. Eddie knows he should be proud of Richie, and he  _ is,  _ but he can’t help but miss him more than ever.

-

Three days later, after Richie’s done his last show on tour (and yes, Eddie has been making it a point to follow the tour schedule, what of it) he suddenly sees an alarming set of tweets in his notifications. 

**some of u mightve heard,** Richie’s tweeted.  **some of u might not have, but im goin on a short hiatus for around a month, for mental health related reasons. this means that certain very specific upcoming shows have been postponed. details on when the postponed shows will be taking place will be provided asap (will update u as we go.)**

**if u bought a ticket but can’t make it to the postponed show, no biggie – theres a way to be reimbursed that we’re putting together, where u can forfeit ur ticket + get ur money back.**

**im sorry to do this at such short notice, but it wouldn’t have been fair to u guys to do a show when im not myself. i rlly need some time away from this. hope you all understand <3**

Eddie exhales loudly, and begins to read through the replies, which are already pouring in. Everybody seems concerned. Richie Tozier has never done this before, ever. He’s known for not cancelling. He has a whole comedy line that’s  _ everybody said I should lie in bed and get better but I thought I could sneeze into this microphone and make you laugh!  _ and he’s performed it on a few occasions when a doctor would’ve asked him not to exert himself. 

Richie’s fans are supportive, Eddie notes, which is good. Perfect, even. He wishes he could offer comfort, but Richie doesn’t even know who he is –

and then his phone tings with the email alert noise. 

“EDDIE SPAGHETTI,” the email says. “HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT.” 


	2. reconnecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a surprisingly productive day (i'm like, 60% done with something i was dreading doing and i am v proud of myself!) so to reward myself (& those of you reading this), here is the next chapter!!

Eddie exhales evenly, doing his best to ignore how jittery he feels. He’s dealt with feeling like this around Richie for almost as long as he’s known him – feeling like an open wound or a twitchy rabbit or something equally messy and obvious.

Eddie Kaspbrak is a mess, and this is a fact, but nobody brings it out as well as Richie Tozier. After all, even when Eddie couldn’t remember Richie, he still couldn’t forget him, and even as a “stranger”, Richie’d hit all his buttons. Gotten to him like nobody else could.

He sanitizes his hands mostly for something to do, because it’s nice remembering that he is in control of some things, and then emails Richie back.

“TOZIER, YOU NEANDERTHAL,” Eddie writes. “NOT THAT I DON’T LOVE YOU BUT COULD I HAVE A PHONE NUMBER OR SOMETHING?”

Maybe it’s too obvious. Does it matter? If the seven of them have been reduced to two, that just means that he’s _allowed_ to be overly affectionate with Richie, who, after all, is the only best friend he currently has who remembers him.

“uhhhhhhhhh,” the email comes back, immediately. “not that i don’t want to, spaghetti old chap, but they want confirmation that it’s really you.”

“Was calling myself Eddie Spaghetti not enough?” Eddie emails back.

“it helped ME remember,” Richie sends, “but it doesn’t mean that it’s you, according to my team. it could be somebody who heard us and who’s impersonating you, y’know? derry was pretty small. tell me something only you would know?”

Eddie thinks for a minute. Most things that used to be information exclusive to the Losers is now part of Richie’s standard set, so he needs to think to ensure that he doesn’t say something that’s common knowledge.

“you wanted to have secret handshakes with all of us, that one summer,” he types, “but none of us agreed except bev. and the two of you had this little routine you’d do which was weird and intricate, clapping, and slamming elbows together and you even did a thing where you’d knock ankles against each other? it was simultaneously the coolest and least cool thing ever.”

Eddie frowns, wondering if that’s not enough.

“we used to go to the arcade all the time,” he types, knowing that this is something most residents of Derry probably know, and therefore adding details that are specific enough to be mostly unheard by other people. “but uh, there was that time. school had just gotten over and we were both pretty euphoric at the thought of summer. we tried so hard to beat each other’s high score, but for the first time, we both tied at one score? and then neither of us could beat it, and we just decided we were both winners that one time and went to buy pastries. which was very different from what we usually do, because ice cream was more our thing, but it was a lot of fun.”

Well, Eddie has nothing to lose. He hits enter, begins to type a third paragraph.

“you used to play songs on repeat all the time, and stan would ALWAYS threaten to ban you from the premises for it.”

But that still isn’t what he wants to say.

_You taught me how to be brave._

That’s too much for an email, though, so Eddie starts a fourth paragraph. “you used to climb in through my bedroom window sometimes, and we’d lie there in my bed together. we never really talked about what was bothering us, but i always knew you were there for me. and i hope you knew that i would always be there for you, too. as much as i could.”

There’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to bring up Pennywise, or Bowers, or anything like that.

He hits send, and leaves his phone on the desk, going into the kitchen to make himself green tea.

As he waits for the water to boil, he hears his phone ping with the email alert. He waits for the tea to be ready before heading back.

“ok, spagheds,” the email says. “consider my team convinced that it’s really you. i’ll email you my number in a bit?”

Eddie frowns, sips at his tea. Richie obviously doesn’t need to send his number immediately, but something about the message feels off to Eddie. Maybe it’s the tone. Maybe it’s just that it doesn’t feel like the sort of message that Richie would send him.

“take ur time, asshole,” Eddie replies, and then, in a new email, “but rich – i gotta know. are you okay?”

“yah,” Richie’s reply says. “just emotional.”

Something in Eddie’s gut twists. He remembers the few times Richie’d phoned him, too upset or sad or uneasy to talk – just to hear Eddie’s voice. They never mentioned it afterwards, mostly because a quiet Richie was not a happy Richie, and Eddie hated to see Richie subdued; hated it so much that he wouldn’t ever want to remember or bring it up. But Eddie remembers now, with clarity, how Richie’d been at those specific times. Silent, sure. But he’d also made snuffling noises like he’d been crying and trying to hide it.

Eddie wonders, with a sudden feeling of detached horror, how he managed to live for nine whole years without Richie.

He also has an intuition about how exactly Richie feels. Overwhelmed, and out of his depth, most likely, but not in a bad way.

It’s a difficult re-adjustment, he thinks. Remembering that you’re loved unconditionally by six other people who just intuitively _get it._

He emails his number over to Richie. “text, don’t call,” he adds in the email body. “I’m not in the habit of picking up calls from numbers I don’t know, so just. send me something that will confirm that it’s you, whenever you feel up to it.”

“ok,” Richie’s email says.

For 45 minutes, Eddie’s phone is silent, and then it lights up with a text message that’s just two emojis – the trashcan emoji followed by the lipstick kiss emoji. _Trashmouth._

Eddie snorts, unsurprised.

He saves Richie’s contact with those two emojis. Just because he can.

-

After making himself a quick and healthy dinner (mostly salad-based, but for once, Eddie’s thinking about things other than how improperly the vegetables have been washed and what it means for his digestive system), he texts Richie, “are you free to call?”

“i think i might cry,” Richie’s message says. It’s not a no, but it’s not a yes either.

“understandable,” Eddie replies, typing as quickly as he can. “I’ve been feeling some sort of way too. it’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“yes,” Richie’s message says.

Eddie frowns, thinking.

“I’m calling you now, asshole,” he texts. “text me a quick no if you want to cancel.”

“ok,” Richie’s text says. “but eds, i WILL cry. it will be messy.”

“yeah, and Richie Tozier being messy is supposed to come as a surprise to me?”

“ouch eds. you WOUND me.”

Eddie smirks, and does not dignify that with a response. He calls Richie’s number.

-

“Hi,” Eddie says, because his gut instinct is telling him to take charge. He’s had more time than Richie has to think about the reality of all this, and he’s been watching Richie’s videos for long enough that despite not getting to have seen him grow into the man he’s become, he feels like he knows Richie to some extent already. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” Richie says, jovial in what Eddie is remembering is his Deflection Voice, “just peachy. Really needed all those memories of violence and killer clowns and assault back in my head!”

Eddie smiles, despite himself. “Hey, dickhead,” he says, slipping into old habits as easily as if no time has passed. “You’re not on stage, you’re talking to me. You don’t need to do that.”

“Do what?” Richie asks, something in his voice shaky.

“Perform,” Eddie says.

“Ah, you think _this_ is performing?” Richie cackles. “Wait until I tell you my physics joke about you and eddy currents. You’ll be startled at how _smart_ I’ve gotten.”

And that’s cute, but Eddie isn’t going to dwell on it. He remembers, suddenly, several instances of Richie calling him cute when they were both kids. He swallows.

“I mean, you don’t have to laugh about it,” Eddie says. “It’s pretty fucked up.”

Richie gulps audibly. “It’s easier,” he says, softly. “I feel like if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll cry. And that if I start crying, I won’t be able to stop.”

Eddie hums in agreement.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this,” he says.

“Well, what do you want to talk about?” Richie asks. He doesn’t sound cheerful, but he doesn’t sound as sad as before, either.

“How are you in general?” Eddie asks. And then, following his gut instinct, he says, “I really like what you’ve been doing with the show.”

It’s the right choice.

“Yeah?” Richie asks, and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, man,” Eddie says. “You make existential dread so funny and relatable and a little less scary. I love it.”

“Honestly?” Richie asks. He sounds delighted.

Eddie sort of wants to propose on the spot, that’s how endearing it is.

“EDDIE KASPBRAK ACTUALLY HONEST TO GOD THINKS I’M FUNNY?” Richie bellows, and Eddie mentally cancels any and all ideas of marriage to Richie Tozier.

“You’re still a little shit,” Eddie says. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Jeez, Eds,” Richie says. “What an honour. Funny little shit. You sure know the way to a man’s heart.”

Eddie, despite himself, smiles. “Don’t call me that, that’s not my name.” He smiles a little wider. “I missed you.”

“Oh my god,” Richie says, sounding winded. Eddie can’t tell if it’s an act, or if it’s just Richie being over the top. “I think I might cry a little. My feral child missed me!”

“I’m not your child, what the _fuck_ ,” Eddie says. And then, on an exhale, “If you make any jokes about fucking my mother, I’ll block your number. I _will_ do it.”

“Yeah, no,” Richie agrees. “I think those jokes expired a long time ago.”

“You’d rather fuck my father, wouldn’t you?” Eddie asks, keeping his voice even, and he revels in the sound of Richie dropping his phone out of surprise.

“Didn’t your dad pass away when you were a kid?” Richie asks, after a moment of silence.

Eddie hums. “I don’t really remember him.”

Eddie wonders, for a minute, what it would’ve been like if his father had been alive for a little longer. Would he have protected him from his mother, or would he have encouraged her?

“Uh, it doesn’t bother you, does it?” Richie asks in the subdued voice that has _always_ made alarm bells go off in Eddie’s head.

“Not having a dad?” Eddie asks, confused.

“No,” Richie says. He’s silent for a moment, and then he says, “the fact that I’m attracted to men.”

“Why would that bother me?” Eddie asks. “Rich, you’re my best friend. It doesn’t change anything.”

Richie exhales, shakily. “Right, okay.”

“Were you genuinely worried about that?” Eddie asks.

Richie’s silence is answer enough.

“Trashmouth, for fuck’s sake,” Eddie says. “There’s a hundred and one things about you that I could list out that differ from what society considers normal. To be honest, you could probably do the same for me. That’s what being a Loser is all about. You know this. I know this. The other five know this, even if they’ve forgotten at this point. There’s nothing _wrong_ with you, yeah? Don’t let anyone make you feel ashamed.”

“Eds, come on,” Richie says. “We grew up in Derry. You remember what that was like.”

Eddie does. He’s also watched enough of Richie’s sets to understand how deep his fear runs, how it lingers still.

“Yeah, but the more of an outcast you are, the more Loser cred points you get,” Eddie says, just to make Richie laugh, and judging by the surprised snort he hears on the other end of the line, it works.

“I do remember what it was like,” Eddie offers. “I’ve got your back, okay?”

“Okay,” Richie says, voice hoarse like he’s trying not to cry. Eddie hates that he finds Richie’s hoarse voice _hot_.

“I’m here for you,” he says, just to break the silence.

“You’re here for me,” Richie echoes back.

They’re both silent for a moment, and then Richie says, “You know, this almost makes the homicidal clown worth it.”

-

They fall into a pattern of nonstop texting very easily. Every night, they call, sometimes talking for hours. Eddie learns very quickly what’s okay to talk about and what’s off-limits. They discuss the fun bits of their childhoods, and none of the awful bits.

After a week and a half of this (during which Eddie’s marvelling at how easily he and Richie just let each other back into their lives, but also missing the other 5 with a passion so fierce that it hurts), Eddie brings up the others on their late-night call.

“All I’m saying, Rich, is that I really want us all to be the Losers Club again,” Eddie says. “And to the best of my knowledge, we’re the only two people who can do anything about it.”

He hears Richie take a shaky breath. “What do you want to do, Eddie?” he asks.

There’s something painfully hollow about how he says it.

“Why are you saying this like that?” Eddie asks. “Like it’s a chore, or a burden, or something?”

Richie makes a choked noise. “That’s not what I think, Eds. I just – ”

He breaks off.

They’re both silent for less than a minute, but it feels like half an hour to Eddie.

“Rich?” he says eventually, tentatively.

“I can’t do this alone,” Richie says. “And before you say that I have you – which I _know_ , don’t get me wrong – you’re _there,_ and I’m _here._ Of course I miss the others. What wouldn’t I give to have Bev here, doing my eyeliner. Or Stan, letting me pace and talk about the things that bother me. Or Bill, with his ideas and his intuition, or Ben, who’s the gentlest and kindest person we know, or Mike, who always has his shit together, no matter what? Eds, I miss all of you. So much. I missed you when I couldn’t remember you, and I miss you even more now. And it hurts, all the time, and I don’t think I can handle it if you ask me to do anything right now. If you want something, you’re going to have to make it happen yourself. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie frowns, thinking. He remembers, with a bolt of shame, Richie’s tweets about a mental health hiatus.

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” he offers.

“Of course, dingbat,” Richie says, laughing with disbelief. “You’re my best friend, for fuck’s sake.”

“Would it help if I join you there?” Eddie asks.

Richie stops laughing. “Eddie… you?”

“There’s nothing tying me to where I am right now,” Eddie says. “Except, well, my job, but I can always request that they shift me to one of the offices in your state, since they’re not regional. In fact, I genuinely need to get out of here soon, before my mom stages some kind of intervention. You’d be doing me a favour. That is, assuming you want me there.”

“Of course I want you here!” Richie practically yells. “Eddie, oh my god, you have _no_ idea. That’s one of the only things that would actually make this feeling better.”

“Good to hear,” Eddie says. “Listen, Rich, we’re gonna have to come up with a plan of action, too. The other losers deserve to remember.”

Richie’s quiet for a significant time. “What makes you think that they would want to remember?”

Eddie feels his heart sinks to his stomach.

“I mean, it’s great knowing you have six best friends who love you unconditionally,” he says eventually, ignoring the sinking feeling. “To be honest, remembering you stopped me from making a very bad life decision.”

“Yeah?” Richie asks. “That’s new. I’m like, the patron saint of bad life decisions.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Eddie frowns, not wanting to think about Myra. “I don’t really want to talk about this over the phone, because it’s a conversation we should have face to face. But I remembered that you always thought I was brave – braver than _I_ thought I could be. And remembering that gave me the strength to stop someone taking advantage of me.”

Richie inhales sharply. “ _Eddie_ ,” he says, jagged and tender.

Eddie remembers, yet again, the intensity with which Richie loves him. It’s probably not the same way that _he_ loves Richie, but it’s fine. Eddie will take what he gets.

Eddie hums. “Not going to say the clown trauma is great, because we both know it’s shit. But Rich, it’s important. Remembering the shit we went through is the only way we can ensure we don’t make the same mistakes or go through the same things again. Remembering our friends is the only way we can survive.”

“Okay,” Richie says, after a pause. “Okay, consider me convinced. But how are we going to make them remember, Eds? Can’t exactly hunt down the rest of the losers and yell ‘It’s Spaghetti Kaspbrak and Trashmouth Tozier at your door, open up’, can we?”

“ _Spaghetti Kaspbrak,_ ” Eddie says in disbelief. “Call me that again and I’ll feed your toes to a piranha.”

“You can take eight of my toes,” Richie says. “Just leave 2. My last name is my brand, I’ll have you know.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Eddie says, but it sounds a lot to his own ears like _well, fuck, I love you._

“Yes, established,” Richie says. “What do you think, about the losers? How do we make them remember?”

“I think different things will work on different Losers,” Eddie says. “I think we need to personalise the things we call them or tell them. Like, remember that Fleetwood Mac album you and Bev were obsessed with? Maybe, if _you_ bring it up, she’ll remember. But if I bring it up, she might not. You know what I mean?”

“And me calling myself ‘Trashmouth’ did it for you?” Richie asks.

“Oh god, please never say that sentence again.” Eddie smiles, and alone in his house, he shrugs. “I wouldn’t say it was just that, to be honest. I mean, I’d watched enough of your videos to have a sense of déjà vu, you know? Calling yourself Trashmouth was like, the final puzzle piece. It definitely wouldn’t have worked on its own.”

“Hmm,” Richie says.

“We’ll figure this out,” Eddie promises. “We’re both pretty smart. Now, I’m going to look at flight tickets, and tomorrow, I’ll talk to my boss. Do you have any preference of when I should arrive?”

Richie laughs, soft and gentle and kind. It’s a sweet laugh, if Eddie allows himself to think of Richie Tozier as _sweet._

“As soon as possible,” Richie says.

And, after a beat, “You think I’m _smart?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise the other losers will Make Their Appearance soon...... it's just so much fun writing richie and eddie's banter, RIP


	3. departing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can usually Never write this fast?  
> i love having a hyperfixation. it's so good :)))  
> uh ok i'll shut up before i jinx it :')

Eddie’s prediction about his boss and her reaction is absolutely on the money. He asks her if he can talk to her regarding a family emergency, and then asks her if he can be relocated to an office in Los Angeles.

She looks a little surprised.

“I’ll be honest,” she tells him, “I never expected you to make a request of this nature.”

“Things are really bad here,” he says, choosing to be honest. “Not like, _here_ here. But I mean, at home. I just broke off an engagement and I don’t feel safe living here anymore.”

The look on her face is now sympathetic.

“There’s an office in LA that will probably be happy to have you,” she tells him, and opens something up on her smartphone, scrolling. “The pay might be less generous, but if you really want to be transferred on such short notice, it’s really the best I can do.”

“I appreciate that you’re doing this for me,” he says.

The smile she gives him is sad. “Take care, Eddie,” she says.

He nods, and goes back to his cubicle to do the work he needs to do for the day. A few minutes before his official clocking-off time, he gets an email on his work account from his boss, who’s sent him details for a position that’s available in the LA office. She’s right that the pay is less generous than his current job, but it’ll do. She’s also mentioned that the earliest he can begin is in three days, and that he can book a plane ticket at a subsidized rate.

He responds with a yes, surprised a little at her kindness but not ready to question it too hard.

When it’s time to leave the office, he leaves with a spring in his step.

-

In the elevator on the way down, he opens his phone’s twitter app and is greeted by a post of Richie, holding a cassette against his mouth, his lips smashed up against the plastic. He’s written, **ever heard a song so good that you want to eat it?** and Eddie winces despite himself at the thought of Richie honest to god eating cassette tapes, even if he can admit that the image is sort of cute (a thought he will never admit thinking, no matter what.)

Quickly, he replies to the tweet with a **that’s unsanitary, dickhead**.

Richie’s response comes virtually immediately. He quote-retweets Eddie’s response, and says, **not the most unsanitary place my mouth’s been ;)**

Eddie smiles despite himself.

The elevator doors open, and he walks out, stands by the wall and replies, **BEEP BEEP, RICHIE!**

Richie likes his tweet, and replies, **already, kaspbrak? you’re getting feeble in your old age.**

The blue notification ribbon appears on twitter, telling him that Richie’s followed him back.

Eddie smiles, and puts his phone in his pocket. He’ll call Richie when he gets home.

-

Eddie get home, changes out of his work clothes, and enters the kitchen, ready to make dinner. He calls Richie though, and puts the phone on speaker.

Richie picks up on the second ring.

“Spaghetti man, hiiiii,” he says. “Didn’t know you had a twitter.”

Just hearing Richie’s voice is enough to make him feel all warm inside.

“Well,” Eddie says. “I do have a twitter. And my name is Eddie, thank you very much.”

“Okay, Eddie thank you very much,” Richie says.

“You’re not even funny, what the fuck,” Eddie says. “I can’t believe people pay money to watch you try and make them laugh.”

“We’re in America,” Richie points out. “We can make money out of anything. For me, merely existing in my natural form can be monetized.”

“I think you’re confusing yourself with Richie Rich,” Eddie says, walking to the refrigerator with his phone in one hand, opening the door and pulling out the vegetables he needs to make a soup. “Anyway, I didn’t call to be mean to you, asshole.”

“Really?” Richie says drily. “Couldn’t have guessed.”

“Shut up for like, five minutes,” Eddie pleads, putting a beetroot on the chopping board and going to find a knife. “Two things –first, I’m talking to you while I cook dinner, so if you make me laugh I might cut one of my fingers off by accident, and I’ll never forgive you, so tone down the humour for a bit, okay?”

“Why the fuck did you call me if you didn’t want cheap giggles,” Richie says, sounding so deeply hurt that Eddie knows it’s fake. Nobody’s sadness sounds _that_ scripted.

“That’s what I’m getting to,” Eddie says, exhaling. “I spoke to my boss about a transfer, and she was really understanding and patient. She says there’s a vacancy in their LA office, and that I can transfer there if I want, which is just pure luck. But, uh. I asked her about moving ASAP, and…. she says I can be there in 3 days?”

There’s a gasp from the other end. “Eddieeeeeeeeeeeee,” Richie says, drawing it out in a way that’s more characteristic to a seven year old than to a twenty six year old man. “Three days! You accepted?”

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie says. “And I’m going to book a flight right after dinner, and I wanted to let you know. Just in case.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then Richie says, softly, “I’m so glad you’re coming here. Really. I’m _so_ glad.”

Eddie chops the beetroot carefully. “Me too, Richie,” he says.

“Okay, uh,” Richie says after a moment of silence, during which Eddie slices vegetables and doesn’t say anything, “I can sort of hear you slicing, and dude, it’s pretty metal.”

“Richie, fucksake,” Eddie exhales through his nose. “Slicing vegetables is _not_ metal. How have you not gotten scurvy yet?”

Richie cackles. “I survived a killer clown,” he says. “I can survive a vitamin C deficiency.”

“No, you cannot,” Eddie says firmly.

“Are you doubting my ability to survive?” Richie asks in his fake-wounded voice again.

“No, I bet you can survive anything, even being microwaved,” Eddie says. “Like a fucking cockroach.”

“Aw, Eddie,” Richie coos. “That’s so sweet. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Eddie snorts, and then realises that in his moment of distraction, he’d somehow placed an unpeeled banana on the chopping board.

“Okay, I think I’m going to mess up dinner if I don’t give it my full attention,” he says to Richie.

“Okay,” Richie says. “Call me after?”

“Yes, of course,” Eddie says.

He almost says “Love you,” but stops himself in time.

Eddie’s not the most verbally affectionate person. In fact, he _never_ says or does things like that. Richie just seems to bring it out in him, he supposes.

Eddie sighs, and leaves his phone in the next room before going back to the kitchen.

-

Eddie has dinner, and then he goes through flight tickets and figures out what would work best, and books it. Then, because he’s bored, he goes onto Richie’s twitter.

Richie, Eddie notes, interacts with his fanbase a lot. He scrolls down his feed, and sees various instance of Richie having retweeted fanart of him, or photos of him after shows standing with fans.

Eddie’s so engrossed that before he knows it, he’s going through tweets that are more than three months old, which is saying _a lot_ , because Richie tweets a fair amount. He stops on an image of Richie, standing after a show with a group of girls who look like they’re in their late teens or early twenties, all of them wearing white crop tops that say, in bright red block letters, “RICHIE TOZIER’S WIFE.”

Eddie frowns, wondering why someone as openly queer as Richie would sell such heteronormative merch. He scrolls down a bit, and realises he’s not the only one with that question – twitter user fizzfroot77 has tweeted the very same question at Richie, and tagged him in the tweet, which Richie’s quote-retweeted his response to.

 **that’s the joke,** Richie’s explanation says. **that’s the irony of it. the likelihood of me getting a wife is pretty low, so saying you’re my wife is basically a made-up title anyway, and it’s one i’m giving. heteronormativity exists to be trolled. if nobody’s my wife, everybody’s my wife. it doesn’t mean anything.**

Eddie frowns, thinking. Then, he opens a new tab and googles “Richie Tozier merch”.

The crop top has sold out from Richie’s official site, but there’s apparently still ways to get it through credible third-party merchants. While this would sound incredibly shady, Richie’s official site seems to suggest that they’re credible, so Eddie figures why not.

There’s one crop top available, according to Amazon. Equally surprising, when Eddie puts his home address in, it informs him that the delivery will arrive in one day.

Eddie thinks of the look on Richie’s face if he pairs the crop top with pyjamas. It’d be a great prank, he thinks.

Plus, there’s something hilarious about buying _Richie Tozier merch._

Eddie smirks as he proceeds to checkout.

-

Once all this has been done, Eddie brushes his teeth, turns his bedroom lights off, and then settles into his bed.

He then calls Richie.

“Hi,” Richie says.

“Hey,” Eddie says. “I booked the tickets and everything. I’ll text you the details?”

“Please do,” Richie says.

They’re both silent for a minute, and then Richie says, in the voice that means that he’s going to ask something that will be embarrassing or absurd, “Eds, I gotta ask – ”

“Not my name, fuckwad,” Eddie says.

“Why are you following Daily Richie Tozier Updates on twitter?” Richie asks, ignoring the interruption.

“You’re _also_ following Daily Richie Tozier Updates,” Eddie says, deflecting.

“Yeah, I need to see what they’re saying about me,” Richie says. “You, on the other hand?”

“God, your ego does _not_ need more stroking,” Eddie mutters.

It’s the wrong thing to say, obviously. “I can name something else that needs stroking,” Richie says.

“Beep, beep, asshole!” Eddie says.

“So,” Richie says, drawing it out. “You like seeing pictures of me on your timeline every day?”

“Yes,” Eddie says flatly. “Really helps my self-esteem, knowing there are uglier people in the world than me.”

“Aw, Eddie, darling,” Richie says, drawing the words out. “You _shouldn’t_ have. Such sweetness. Just what I adore in a man.”

Eddie feels himself blushing and thanks all his lucky stars that this isn’t a video call. “Whatever, Rich,” he says.

“Okay, but for real,” Richie says, his tone of voice serious and genuine. “I think it’s really neat. That you, you know. Found me. Remembered me. Helped me remember you. So I’m not going to tease you too much for following my fan accounts.”

“Really?” Eddie asks.

“I’m going to tease you a little,” Richie says. “I wouldn’t be me and you wouldn’t be you if we didn’t do that.”

Eddie snorts.

“Still,” Richie says. “I sort of love it, you know? That I had your support even when you didn’t remember me. That means a lot.”

“You’re very sentimental today,” Eddie says. “What happened? Ghost of Christmas Present show up at your door or something?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the wrong ghost,” Richie says. “Nah, just. Thinking. Of how you’ll be here soon, and how I’ll probably need to get the apartment deep cleaned before you do. And one thing led to another, and I found myself actually glad that I needed to clean my apartment. If you’ll be here.”

The words make Eddie feel strangely warm inside.

He and Richie don’t do sincerity, especially not like this. Richie must _really_ miss him.

“You’re making the rat family that lives in your flat relocate?” Eddie asks. “Won’t you miss them, since they’re your only friends?”

“Guess I’ll have to make do with you,” Richie says.

Eddie can’t think of a single thing to say to that.

“Speaking of my fan accounts,” Richie begins, and Eddie groans.

“Really, Rich?”

“Shh,” Richie says. Eddie can imagine what he looks like doing it, a finger to his lips and that excessively serious expression on his face that means that he’s anything but serious. “Listen, listen, listen. Do you follow the What is Richie Tozier Doing twitter?”

Eddie laughs, he can’t help it. “Oh my god, yes. My favourite so far was ‘Richie Tozier is at a candlelit dinner knitting socks for capybaras,’ which if you think about it, sounds like something you would actually do.”

“I _so_ would,” Richie agrees with a cackle. “Did you know that entire account is a bot?”

“NO,” Eddie gasps.

“YES,” Richie exclaims. “Someone actually programmed a bot to make fun of me on an hourly basis! Isn’t that amazing!”

“That is amazing,” Eddie agrees. “Can’t believe that bot does better than you at your actual job.”

Richie laughs uproariously, the sort of laugh that had been responsible for his bad conduct grades in school, alongside a hundred other things.

“Remember everything I said about your support?” Richie says. “Consider it _all_ redacted. You’re the worst, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“If I’m the worst, then what are you?” Eddie asks in his best innocent little boy voice.

“Your best friend?” Richie asks, his voice equally blameless.

“Wow, you’re such a fucker,” Eddie says, and yawns in the middle of the sentence.

Richie catches it instantly, because of course he does.

“Go to sleep, Eds,” he says. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Text me your flight details as soon as you can so I can figure stuff out.”

“Will you come to pick me up at the airport?” Eddie asks.

Richie scoffs.

“As if I wouldn’t,” he says. “I’ll be there, Eds. Count on it.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Richie says, his voice soft in a way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever heard before. “Can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah, same,” Eddie says. “Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

Richie hums an affirmation, and Eddie hangs up.

He puts his phone on the bedside table after setting an alarm, and then he turns on his stomach and lies there, under the covers, not quite asleep but not fully awake either.

He smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how a job like eddie's would work, but i see his boss as being kind to him because  
> A) she's a nice person, whatever  
> B) eddie has taken sick leave exactly never, so for him of all people to make a request like this is sort of worrying and strange and unexpected
> 
> bonus fun fact: richie's cassette eating twitter post is based off a post i made in which i have a CD smushed up against my (open) mouth with the same caption (no, i will not give u the link because it's Embarassing.)  
> but like, i'd been dying to make that joke, and then i made that joke, and then i went 'holy shit how very richie tozier of me' and then i made richie make that joke, too. 
> 
> @ mori, who's seeing this terrible joke twice........... i'm so sorry


	4. rendezvous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a very difficult chapter to write, and i still don't know how i feel about it, but i am nothing if not impulsive, so! here you go!!

Eddie’s boss emails him permission to work for half the day on his two remaining work days before he moves. Eddie expresses his gratitude, and uses the extra time this gives him to pack up the things he really needs.

He sells his furniture, which is in good enough condition that it’s not difficult for him to get decent money for it. He spends time nervously listening to some of Richie’s interviews. It’s strange, he thinks, how Richie’s voice is one he intuitively trusts, even before the memory of who Richie was had settled in.

Eddie’s finding it surprisingly easy to deal with the new memories where Richie’s concerned. Instead of making him ashamed about having a celebrity crush on someone he once used to know better than he knew himself, the memories provide a context to his feelings that he wasn’t aware of before. They remind him that none of this attraction is new, or even baseless. When Eddie thinks of Richie now, it’s not necessarily of who the public sees as Richie. It’s of his best friend, who would mock him relentlessly and share a hammock with him but who knew when he was feeling miserable and was always empathetic and tuned in to his needs, someone who never made him feel small.

The crop top arrives exactly at the predicted time, and Eddie grins like it’s his birthday as he collects it from the delivery man.

Time passes both too fast and too slowly. He tells his mother at the last possible minute that he’s leaving for a business thing, and is intentionally vague.

She doesn’t take this news well, but he’d anticipated that.

It’s fine though. Eddie just has to make it through the day, and then he’s leaving.

Phone call done, Eddie watches Richie’s cycle of trauma talk again.

-

He’d downloaded the trauma talk because the video, posted on Richie’s official YouTube account, had a download link and a note in the description from Richie himself that said that “ _if there are any traumatized kids out there who find this helpful, i want you to have it_.” There was also a transcript that could be downloaded as a PDF. Eddie had that one on his phone, too.

It was a part of something, improv perhaps – it hadn’t been a part of Richie’s set. He’d been at a show, a smaller one that was pretty informal, and he’d been discussing things with his fans. A youngish girl, who looked about fifteen, in a black hoodie with brown hair that had a single blue streak in it had raised her hand to ask a question, and she’d said something asking Richie about what he believed when it came to trauma being cyclic or victims being trapped in abuse.

Richie’s eyes had gone a little blank for a minute, and he’d frowned. “ _i feel like there’s something i should be remembering, but i don’t know what,”_ he’d said at first. And then, he’d basically gone on a long rant about how “ _people don’t give survivors enough credit, i mean. the things that people live through, the things that people survive. it’s magic of its own. it’s a very special brand of hell. we can all talk about our personal traumas and flesh them out all day but unless you’ve lived it, and i sure hope you haven’t, you probably can’t relate. which is why when people say things about patterns that repeat themselves and social learning theory and patterns of abuse i’m.”_ Richie shrugs. _“i understand that in some contexts maybe victims of abuse don’t realise certain behaviours are abusive, and might carry them forward. i do understand that, but i don’t believe that if you’re abused you will turn out abusive, or that your entire life is over from that point. human resilience! you’ve got it! i’ve got it! i don’t know, does that answer your question? we can be trapped by horrible things, sure. but we don’t HAVE to be. anyone can unlearn and grow.”_ He’d smiled at the audience, likely made eye contact with the girl. “ _thank you for that. i hope i answered your question?”_ and she nods.

It was a strange snippet, Eddie thinks, because it hadn’t been a joke – it’d been a moment of sincerity, which, from Richie, is definitely strange. The first time Eddie had found it, he’d felt something weird, as if there were something tethered to the inside of his stomach that was tugging at him.

“ _i’m scared of clowns, sure,_ ” Richie had said in his set, before the Q&As. “ _maybe i even have repressed clown trauma, who knows. your guess is as good as mine. and i think a lot about how i’m basically just a clown with no make-up, in a way. what are my motivations? what am i doing here? i’m just a grown man trying to make you laugh. are you scared of me yet? huh? well you should be. or you should be scared for me. yesterday i was so tired when i got home that i tried to brush my teeth with soap. i mean, at least i got them clean?”_

Eddie thinks that the girl’s question had been in the context of that. And Richie, in his long rant, had causally mentioned being a trauma survivor and getting a therapist and _I get to joke about my personal trauma, i really hope it doesn’t make survivors feel invalidated because that’s the opposite of what we’re doing here._ Eddie, before the memories had come back, had felt a sad pang in his heart at this, a startling sense of empathy. Now, in the context of everything he knows, it just makes him feel soft.

It also makes him smile a little bit, because Richie’s “repressed clown trauma” joke is much more real than Richie’d probably thought.

On a whim, Eddie texts Richie, **you’re really brave. i’m proud of you.**

 **aww how cute, spaghetti’s getting sentimental,** Richie responds almost immediately. **also, YOU’RE brave too. never forget it.**

This declaration is followed by a series of heart emojis.

Eddie smiles so much that it wouldn’t be surprising if his face hurt. Something in his heart feels heavy, all the same. He can’t believe he forgot Richie.

-

When it’s finally time to leave, Eddie barely believes it. Everything goes without a hitch.

Eddie, for all his understandable dislike and mistrust of airports, had booked a red eye flight, because he wanted to avoid the rush that more popular flight timings would mean. There was something almost soothing about the idea of arriving at six in the morning, even if it means a night of no sleep.

Eddie usually likes the airport when it’s quiet and subdued, but this time, it just means more time for him and his thoughts.

When Eddie’d asked Richie about whether an early morning arrival would be okay, Richie’d just laughed and said something about _I said I wanted to see you as soon as possible, and I’m glad you’re taking it literally. I doubt I’ll get much sleep, anyway._

Eddie had understood. The anticipation feels almost solid in his body.

He messages Richie twice – once after he clears the security check, and the second time, once he’s boarded, right before they’re asked to put their phones in flight mode or turn them off.

Once the plane takes off, Eddie merely puts headphones on and listens to a few of his favourite songs that his newly reacquired memories tell him are songs that Richie introduced him to. It serves to make him feel simultaneously very calm and also, nervous.

After a few minutes of this, Eddie tunes into a podcast that he usually wouldn’t listen to, but the episode he’s listening to features an exclusive interview with _The One And Only Richie Tozier!_ and it’s an interview that Eddie hasn’t heard before.

Eddie wonders, sometimes, if this level of focus on Richie is too much, but in the context of them being best friends, it doesn’t feel creepy or obsessive. It feels like supporting a friend. And if the other five don’t remember Richie, well, Eddie’s going to have to be six times as supportive and loving until they do. It’s understandable, isn’t it?

This is what he tells himself as he sits in his seat, fidgeting because his entire body feels overwhelmed and restless. Eddie almost misses his inhaler, which he’d intentionally left behind, and for something to do, he folds the air sickness bag into quarters and unfolds it and folds it up again. He knows if he sleeps, time will go faster, but he’s too anxious and excited to sleep. Every part of his body feels electric.

They can’t land soon enough. When they finally do, Eddie takes his bags from the overhead cabin and heads over to the baggage claim, texting Richie to tell him which terminal he’ll be at.

He gets his things, and clears the gate. And he spots Richie before Richie sees him – Richie, whose hair is in disarray, who’s wearing an orange shirt with a yellow palm tree print and a navy blue shirt inside that, paired with jeans that seem to have a ketchup stain on the right thigh, Richie who somehow looks bigger and more vibrant than Eddie had remembered or could’ve even imagined. He looks tired, but at the same time, like there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

Eddie’s about to call out to him when Richie looks up from his phone, and they make eye contact. It’s a bit of a blur from there, regarding who reaches out to whom. Eddie will think, in retrospect, that they both reached out for each other at the exact same time, and met in the middle.

Richie’s arms wrap around him, and Eddie presses his face into the warmth of Richie’s shoulder. His hands move to Richie’s upper back, and he holds him the way a tumbler would hold water, as if his grip is the only thing keeping Richie solid. Richie’s saying something nonsensical under his breath, something that sounds like “ _Eds you’re here you’re here you’re here_ ” and Eddie smiles, shifts a little. He wants to say something in return, something about how this feels like where he’s meant to be, but he just lets Richie hold him and murmur nonsense into his hair.

When they finally break apart, Eddie feels shaky and exposed in a good way, like he could cry out of how happy he is. Richie has beaten him to it, though – two trails of tears are already slipping down his cheeks, glowing silver in the dim light outdoors.

Without really thinking about it, Eddie puts a hand on Richie’s cheek, wiping them away with his hand. He leaves his hand there for a minute, stares at Richie, who’s looking right back, his eyes sort of glazed.

“It’s so good to see you,” Eddie says softly.

Richie nods, and sniffs, and Eddie smirks, and Richie threatens him to shut up if he knows what’s good for him, but there’s no heat to the threat. Richie takes one of Eddie’s suitcases from him, and they load everything into the trunk of Richie’s car.

Richie looks like he’s going to start crying again, so Eddie gives him a quick hug.

“Let’s get back to your place,” Eddie says. “I don’t need to start at my new job for another two days, not counting today. I got permission to come early mostly to settle in, and to figure things out before I begin work again. So if you want to get all emotional and cry big shiny tears over little Eddie Spaghetti, we can do it in the privacy of your home. Sounds good?”

“You’re a dickhead,” Richie says. “Forgive _me_ for crying over the fact that my childhood best friend is back in my life.”

“Remind me to buy five boxes of Kleenex for the future, then,” Eddie mutters.

Richie smiles as he settles into the driver’s seat, and Eddie sits shotgun comfortably.

Eddie riffles through Richie’s CD collection, putting some Radiohead in. The streets are relatively empty at this time of morning, so they reach in what Richie tells him is record timing to Richie’s place.

Richie’s house has four bedrooms and two floors and a lot of open spaces. It’s more tastefully done than Eddie would’ve expected Richie to be capable of, but then again, Richie Tozier’s all grown up now. The floors are a calming off-white, and there’s gold décor that’s done in a minimalistic way that stops it from looking gaudy. This aesthetic, paired with the dark brown of the curtains and the occasional dark wallpaper, gives the entire house a strangely sombre but elegant look.

Then, there’s random art on the walls. Everything’s framed, but most of it looks like random explosions of colour, like the sort of things someone in kindergarten would probably have made. It makes the space look less classy and posh, and more like the sort of place Eddie would expect Richie to live in.

Comfortable and informal. Homely.

Richie leaves Eddie’s stuff in a spare bedroom that’s obviously been done up for him, with new sheets and everything. They make vague plans for breakfast, and go to a café sometime between 7 and 8 in the morning.

“Can we take today easy?” Richie asks, through a mouthful of omelette.

Eddie hates that he loves this man, for a moment. “Close your mouth and eat, you slob,” he says almost fondly. “What do you mean?”

Richie swallows, sips at some water and then responds. “Just. No big plans for the future? No trauma talk or clown talk or Derry talk? Just us, maybe watching movies or reading comics, napping on my sofa? We can cook lunch and order pizza for dinner, if you’re okay with that, I know some pretty good places.”

Eddie gives Richie a look, trying to assess what he’s thinking. He used to be better at this when they were kids, he realises, with a pang of loss.

Their life paths _shouldn’t_ have diverged the way they did.

There’s something about the way that Richie won’t meet his eyes that cues Eddie in. Richie as a kid would’ve made a joke about the whole thing, but Richie as an adult is emotionally mature enough to give it to Eddie as it is. Eddie wonders what brought that change on. It’s something he thinks he can ask Richie, later, maybe. But for now he assess it, half risk analyst and half a man in love with his best friend.

It strikes him that Richie looks uncertain. Maybe even afraid.

“Hey,” Eddie says. He reaches out, and takes Richie’s hand over the table, and then drops it immediately because it’s greasy.

Richie smirks, as if knowing what caused this response.

“You’re not just a part of my plan to get the gang together, okay?” Eddie says. “I genuinely want to spend time with you, dipshit. I miss the others, and I know you miss them too, because you _must_ , I mean. You remember how we were as kids.”

Richie nods. He’s studiously looking at his breakfast, and not looking at Eddie. “I remember,” he says.

“We deserve to have friends like that,” Eddie says. “I want them back in my life. But that doesn’t mean that spending time with you is secondary, or anything, okay?”

Richie looks up at him, his glasses magnifying his eyes more than usual. Eddie, who’s running on no sleep, thinks that this makes his eyes look like doe eyes. Maybe it’s this sentiment, or the lack of sleep, that makes Eddie say, genuinely, “Not that we can choose, or that we _should_ choose. But you’re probably my favourite Loser.”

Richie makes a surprised noise.

“Beep, beep, Kaspbrak,” he says, which is one of the strangest things Eddie’s ever heard.

But he smiles, and he splits the bill with Richie and they go back to Richie’s place, which is already beginning to feel like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i spent the past few days reading two _eddie and richie remember each other/find each other again during the 27 years_ fics because i love this trope, and was surprised by some of the similarities AND some of the differences in other people's take on this concept and my own! a small part of me was like 'we don't need another AU like this' but the truth is i LOVE writing this and i LOVE reading this trope too so, like coffee shop aus, i'm hoping it's just one of those things that doesn't get old!


	5. confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i got a comment asking about the timeline (which i am super grateful for!), which made me realise that i sort of. accidentally aged the losers down a decade? so just for clarity: whatever's happening right now is happening in the 2010s and they're almost in their 30s, not in their 40s. so far nobody's beep beeped me so i'm glad that either nobody else noticed, or even if you noticed you either liked this enough to go on reading, or disliked it but just left without @-ing me,,, eh. it's all good. okay cool here you go, enjoy.
> 
> oh also: there are some allusions to homophobia, and some maternal abuse feels - nothing very explicit, just implications and mostly eddie's reactions to these things than the things themselves. but still! heads up. if this stuff may trigger you stay safe!

Dinner with Richie is surprisingly lowkey. They order, and they sit together and eat. Neither of them makes small talk, and if both of them stare at each other a little more than usual as if to remind themselves that this is really happening, who’s to stop them?

Once they’re done eating, Richie puts something on the television and Eddie leans against him on the sofa. It’s music hour on some channel, and people are encouraged to call in and send song recommendations.

Richie picks his phone up, gives Eddie a look, considering.

“Still like The Cranberries?”

Eddie looks back, his eyes wide. _You remember that?_ he thinks. He’d mentioned it just once, and that too in passing. It’d never been something he’d really spoken about.

“They’re still my favourite band, yeah,” Eddie says instead. He taps Richie’s forehead with his index finger gently. “Looks like this thing up here is good for something.”

Richie cackles. “I gotta mark this day in my calendar.” He puts on a voice, something high pitched and excited. “ _Edward Kaspbrak thinks my brain is good for something! Or maybe just that I have a pretty face! Oh dearie me, however will I go on?_ ”

“You’re a dickhead,” Eddie says, smiling. “I take it back. I take everything back.”

Richie laughs, and presses the call button.

Eddie quiets down, presses his head against Richie’s shoulder. He can hear the dialtone from where he is, and he hears it when the person on the other side of the line picks up.

“Yeah, hi,” Richie says. “I called in to request _Desperate Andy_ by the Cranberries?”

The person on the other end says something that Eddie doesn’t catch.

“Thank you,” Richie says. “Thank you so much,” and then he hangs up.

“It’ll be the fourth song from now,” Richie tells him.

Eddie wants to say thank you, but he doesn’t have the words for it, so he gently squeezes Richie’s hand.

“We can go to bed after,” Richie says. “Been a big day, hasn’t it?”

“The best day,” Eddie mutters. “Missed you, fucknuts.”

Eddie smiles, and he keeps smiling, even as Richie tries to sing his favourite song in key and fails. After all, it’s the thought that counts.

 _The world is your oyster, you can do what you want to,_ Eddie thinks in time with the lyrics. There’s a quiet significance to the song. Richie’s thoughtfulness always surprises him. It’s in the little things.

The next song up is _Hey there, Delilah_ , and Richie sings along, changing the Delilah to Spaghetti in every verse. Eddie tries to be a good guest, but his restraint has limits, and after two verses of this, he hits Richie in the face with a cushion.

“Hey there Spaghetti, what’s it like in New York city is one of the _stupidest_ lyrics I’ve ever heard,” Eddie says.

They part ways, Eddie walking over to the guest bedroom Richie’s made up just for him. Eddie remembers, with a soft ache in his chest, how when they’d had sleepovers as kids, and on nights that Richie’d crept into his house, they’d shared beds, and always woken up curled into each other. Homicidal clown aside, some things had been so simple when they were kids.

It’s not like Eddie used to share the bed with Myra, not really. But in Richie’s guest bedroom bed with clean sheets specially for him, the absence of a warm body next to him feels like a presence.

Still, it’s hard to miss Richie when Eddie knows he’s in the next room, and that they’re going to spend an indeterminate amount of time together after. Tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that.

-

When Eddie wakes up next morning, it’s to five missed calls from his mother, and a string of twelve texts. The texts she’s sent are long enough that she might’ve been better off sending him an email. It’s not the length that deters him, though – it’s the content. The homophobia, the accusation, the worry, the precaution.

Sonia Kaspbrak has heard that her son is romantically involved with comedian Richie Tozier, and she’s just looking out for him. Or at least, Eddie thinks, feeling a little sick, this is probably how she’s rationalizing it to herself.

It hits him with more force than thoughts concerning his mother usually do. He hates her for saying such derogatory things about Richie, his best friend who he isn’t dating but who he thinks he loves more than he’s ever loved anyone before, but more than that, simply and without anything else needing to be said, he _hates_ her.

Hates her for what she did to him. Who he grew up to be. What he almost did, marrying Myra. His mother taught him to value himself that little; to value himself so little that he’d disregard his own needs to keep a woman he didn’t even love happy.

Eddie swallows, reads her texts again. They’re vitriolic, but this time, that’s not what he focuses on. He frowns, looking at what she’s said about indecent photographs. It’s easy from there, to search twitter for **Richie Tozier boyfriend** and to see that a gossip magazine’s official twitter has posted two pictures of him and Richie from the airport.

The first picture’s of Richie wrapping Eddie in his arms, beaming. Eddie’s face isn’t in the shot, he’d been too busy burying his face in Richie’s shoulder. The photo shows Richie’s arms around Eddie, and the excited, cheerful beaming smile that Richie’d reserve only for a Loser. Makes sense, he thinks detachedly, feeling a little sick, that the photographers thought what they did. This is not a smile that Richie Tozier gives the general public.

The second one is the one that incriminates Eddie. They’ve got a photo right after the hug, of one of Eddie’s hands on Richie’s face as he wipes away a tear. Not only is Eddie’s face completely visible, his expression’s clear as day too. He looks absolutely smitten; sort of soft and concerned. There’s something tender in the way he’s looking at Richie. Eddie frowns. He hadn’t known his face could even do that.

And Richie. Richie’s looking back, looking straight at Eddie as if Eddie’s the only person on the planet.

Which. All of this makes sense, in the context of their childhoods and the clown amnesia and everything else. They look like reunited lovers, because they grew up closer than family, and that’s all there is to it. Eddie understands how outsiders could look at these pictures and add a romantic subtext to them, not knowing what Eddie and Richie are to each other. He understands this, but he hates them all the same.

There’s something about these photos that’s so personal.

Eddie swallows, gets out of bed, brushes his teeth as fast as he can while still being efficient. He’s ghosting his mother, because she’s not his priority right now. Right now he needs to find Richie, and talk about damage control.

-

Richie’s frying eggs in the kitchen, whistling a few bars from _wake up and smell the coffee_ under his breath. Eddie’s frown decreases in intensity a little – it’s hard to retain a bad mood when his best friend looks so cheery. Then, remembering that what he needs to say will definitely ruin Richie’s mood, Eddie’s frown comes back in full force.

“Hey, fuckface,” Eddie says, hoping his tone comes out even, and not upset.

“Hey, sunshine,” Richie says, which probably means Eddie’s in the clear. Except he’s turning to face Eddie, a question on his face. “What’s up?”

Eddie swallows. “Uh, Rich,” he begins, eyes darting between the egg on the frying pan and the look on Richie’s face, which is going from curious to concerned very quickly. “Have you checked your twitter?”

Richie shrugs, flipping the egg easily.

“I never do that first thing in the morning,” Richie says. “Why ruin my day for myself, you know?”

Eddie nods. He knows.

Richie’s almost done with the egg.

Eddie watches him, and tries to stay calm.

Finally, Richie puts the fully cooked egg on a plate and turns the stove off.

“Okay, macaroni man,” he says, looking at Eddie. “What’s got your panties all twisted?”

His smile falls off his face when he sees Eddie’s face.

“It’s serious, isn’t it,” he murmurs.

“I don’t know,” Eddie murmurs back. “Depends on what you want to make of it.” And then, without further ado, he hands his phone to Richie – his phone that’s open on the tweet speculating on their relationship by the media, with the photographs and everything.

Richie pales.

Eddie gives him a moment.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks eventually.

Richie laughs breathlessly. There’s no humour to it.

“You’re asking _me_ this,” he murmurs, taking his glasses off and pressing his palms against his eyelids gently. “Oh, Eddie. Never mind me, it’s all a part of the famous comedian deal. How are you handling it?”

Eddie doesn’t know what to make of this. “I’m fine, Richie,” he says softly. “I should’ve remembered that if we did that at the airport, someone could make a scoop out of it. I forgot that you’re a figure of public interest, or whatever. I’m mostly annoyed that they took that moment and made it into something it’s not, but mostly just that they were watching and documenting a moment that should’ve belonged to us and us alone. You know?”

Richie hums. He puts his glasses back on, and sits down.

“You don’t mind that they dragged you into it?” he asks, voice soft.

“I should’ve remembered it could happen,” Eddie says.

“And. The fact that they perceived you as my boyfriend,” Richie says, muted in a way that Eddie’s never heard from him before, “that doesn’t bother you?”

 _Oh_ , Eddie thinks. Bits and pieces of Richie’s stand up come to mind, along with memories of the homophobia everywhere in Derry. Eddie _knows_ this is difficult for Richie, even if Richie’s not going to say it outright. Eddie’ll be damned if he makes it any harder.

“Of course it doesn’t bother me,” Eddie says softly and gently, as kindly as he knows how to say. He moves to the kitchen counter, and picks up the plate of toast and the eggs, carrying them back to the table and sitting down across Richie.

“In fact,” Eddie says, biting a corner of toast, “I think it’s flattering.”

Richie makes a choked noise.

Eddie gives him a curious look.

“Well, I guess there’s no accounting for taste,” Richie says, smirking slightly. He gets up, opens the fridge, and returns with a carton of orange juice. “Then again, your mother always used to say – ”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie says. “I thought you were going to stop doing that?”

Richie sighs. “Old habits, man. Can’t kick them.”

He looks at Eddie solemnly. “Thank you, though.”

Eddie just nods.

They eat breakfast in almost complete silence. It would’ve passed without any other incidents, but then Richie asks, “Are you in the habit of checking twitter first thing every morning, or?”

Richie’d always been too smart for his own good.

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Actually,” he says, softly. “My mom messaged me some incredibly homophobic and horrible things. Warnings to keep away from you.”

Richie looks like he’s been slapped, but he recovers quickly. “Like that’s going to work,” he says. “She’s been trying to keep me away from you all through our childhoods.”

“Yeah!” Eddie says. “Exactly. I don’t care what she says, Richie. You’re my best friend. I don’t want her fucking warnings. I know I’m safe with you.”

Richie hums, looking away. He blinks a few times, as if clearing his head.

“You are,” he says eventually, his voice rough. “Safe with me, that is. Uh… Eddie? Do you think you could show me the messages?”

Eddie shakes his head. “They were really derogatory, Richie,” he says. “I don’t want you to see them.”

“I’m sure I’ve heard worse,” Richie says, almost nonchalantly.

“Maybe you have,” Eddie says. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to put _more_ homophobic rhetoric in your life, dickhead. You don’t deserve to be spoken about like that, and once I’m done with breakfast, I’m going to tell my mom as much, and possibly block her number afterwards. I’m not showing you, because you deserve so much better.”

Richie huffs out a little laugh. “Wow, okay. Thanks for looking out for me. Would it be too much to ask for the gist of it though? I understand why you don’t want to show me, but I really want to know.”

Eddie sighs and wonders if blocking his mother without any further ado makes him a bad person.

“You can imagine,” Eddie says softly. “Derogatory things. Uh. Implying that you were somehow going to corrupt me. AIDS reference. That kind of bullshit.”

Richie swallows. “Right.”

“The kind of bullshit that if anyone _dares_ say to you, I’ll hit them in the face for,” Eddie says. He really means it, and he thinks Richie can tell.

Richie smiles. It’s a small smile, but it reaches his eyes.

“My knight in shining armour,” he says, blowing Eddie a kiss. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

Eddie smiles. “You compared me to a rabid raccoon once, when we were kids.”

Richie laughs, loud and bright. “Yeah, man. I stand by that.”

-

Despite how much he’d meant it when talking to Richie, the thought of calling his mother is too horrifying, so he texts her. Eddie knows he should clear up the misunderstanding, tell her he isn’t dating Richie. Instead, he messages, _I love him. I’m not going to keep away from him,_ and then turns his phone off.

He’ll handle that later. He knows he can’t get out of it. She’ll call him, and she’ll cry on the phone. And he’ll need to pretend it doesn’t fuck him up inside when she cries, and he’ll hang up on her, and he’ll cry. All in a day’s work.

Richie, sensing how Eddie’s feeling about all of this, watches a few movies with him, makes him spaghetti for lunch just to make him smile, and eventually, gets his laptop out and begins to look up the other Losers.

“Are you ready to do this?” Eddie asks, watching as Richie flips through a pdf of Bev’s summer catalogue.

“Does it matter?” Richie asks. “I mean, we’re going to have to get started sooner or later.”

“I couldn’t find anything on Stan,” Eddie admits.

“Where did you look?” Richie asks.

“You know, the usual,” Eddie says. “Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, all of that.”

“Oh, Eds,” Richie says, smiling. “You won’t get anywhere with that. Let’s go on LinkedIn.”

They _do,_ and they find him. He’s an accountant, in Atlanta.

After a moment of looking at Stan’s contact details and looking at each other, both of them agree that maybe now isn’t the best time to really dive into Mission: Reunite the Losers Club.

Richie bookmarks the page, and Eddie puts himself in charge of making dinner, mostly just for something to do. Richie helps when Eddie asks him to, peeling vegetables and watching various saucepans to ensure that nothing boils over, but letting Eddie take charge.

Eddie appreciates it.

They eat mostly in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. Richie plays something off his phone – it’s a mixtape, Eddie realises, his mouth going dry. A mixtape that Richie’s stored as a spotify playlist. The mixtape Beverly made for Stan, if he remembers right. Does he remember right?

Once they’re done eating, Richie goes and returns with a few bottles of various alcoholic beverages. Eddie raises an eyebrow at the assortment.

“I think we’ve earned it,” Richie says. “Drinking game?”

All the reflexes and behaviours that make Eddie who he is are urging him to say no. Not to put himself in this position.

But he looks at Richie, _really_ looks at him. The way he’s sitting, sprawled out, comfortable. The way he’s holding the bottle. That crooked smile. And he remembers the way Richie’d said, just that morning, that Eddie was safe with him.

A drinking game can’t hurt, Eddie figures. It might even help alleviate the weird tension that he’s been carrying, thanks to the awful interaction with his mother.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says. “Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im like. academically in a bit of a pickle so. i'll update when i can and as much as i can but if i disappear do not worry! that's only the worst case scenario but it is a possibility. anyway im NOT abandoning this.
> 
> cool ok happy saturday everybody! uh it's sunday already somewhere innit? happy sunday to Those People lmao ok goodnite


	6. lowering inhibitions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was hoping to post this one on valentines day, which is so anti-climatic in some ways because nothing romantic really happens yet, but i missed it in a ton of timezones (including my own!) but eh, whatever.
> 
> as you can probably tell by the chapter title (and by the fact that this begins exactly where the last chapter left off) there is a lot of Drinking. these two are so platonically married and so oblivious and so insufferable, i love writing them but if i met them irl i would probably yell at them both for 30 minutes straight.
> 
> rating may go up, because there's also a lot of inherent UST in their dynamic, and we gotta resolve that eventually! i will let u know in author's notes b4 anything happens though so that you can avoid smut if that's not your jam. this chapter is....... i don't know. it's Something. emotionally heavy fluff hurt/comfort banter but no romantic or sexual resolution! god we sure do love being gay in this household
> 
> anyway: enjoy.

“I didn’t get any cups,” Richie says.

Eddie gets up, moves, sits right next to Richie, and then thinks of how they’d always gotten all up in each other’s space all through their childhood. Before he can talk himself out of it, he leans against Richie, pressing his entire side against his best friend.

“We can drink from the bottle, I guess,” Eddie says.

Richie turns his head at a slight angle, analysing Eddie’s expression.

“Hm, okay. Not worried about my cooties?” Richie asks.

“Your saliva’s hardly more grotesque than your personality,” Eddie shoots back, putting his head on Richie’s shoulder. “Any ideas for drinking games?”

“How does your tiny body store so much rage?” Richie asks, smiling. He unscrews the lid of one of the bottles, some cherry thing, and chugs at it, wiping his mouth on his hand and handing Eddie the bottle.

“Growing up around you, I guess,” Eddie says, smiling back. “We were so annoying.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, laughing. “I remember sometimes I’d wind you up for laughs, and you’d get super worked up, and we’d both just yell back and forth, and everyone else would watch us like we were a tennis match or something.”

“Ben always seemed mildly concerned,” Eddie remembers, grinning. “And Stan gave no fucks. He used to look at us like he was imagining our funeral.”

“We probably deserved it,” Richie says, smirking. “So, Spaghetti. Drinking game of your choice?”

Eddie frowns.

“We could play Never have I ever, but that’s no fun with just two people,” Richie says.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Truth or dare is also no fun with just two people. Also, we’re not 12.”

“Some of us didn’t grow much beyond 12, if we’re being honest here,” Richie says, putting a hand on the top of Eddie’s head in the same way that people absentmindedly pat their dogs.

“Eat my ass,” Eddie says.

He waits for a response, something dirty, but nothing’s forthcoming from Richie. He moves to face Richie, and sees that he looks almost flustered, his cheeks red. _Right,_ Eddie thinks. _The queer thing._ Probably still a big deal.

Eddie’s possibly staring too long or too hard or too obviously, because Richie finally meets his eyes.

“In my defence,” Richie says, “you have a very cute ass. Definitely in my top 3.”

“Beep, beep, what the fuck,” Eddie says, and then takes a generous gulp from the bottle before passing it back to Richie. “If I’m in your top 3, who’s 2 and who’s 1? No, wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear about your boner for my parents.”

Richie sighs. “Ah, Eds, you’re so mean to me,” he says, taking a small sip and handing the bottle back. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to google it, yeah?”

“What, rimming?”

Richie spits what’s in his mouth in shock, and Eddie winces, pulling a few tissues out of his pockets and handing them to Richie.

“Trust you to have _tissues_ at hand, Eds, seriously. Nah, I meant I’m googling drinking games.”

“You could practice a stand up routine,” Eddie suggests. “Every time you fuck something up or say something that could be interpreted as problematic, you have to take a shot. Every time I want to beep beep you, _I_ could take a shot.”

“Not sure how that’ll work out for us,” Richie says. “We’ll both be drinking after virtually every sentence I say.”

Eddie snorts.

“We could like, exchange secrets,” Eddie says.

“What is this, a sleepover for 12 year old girls?” Richie asks. He picks up a new bottle of some vodka drink, and a bottle of mango juice, taking a sip from each in quick succession. “Count me _in_.”

Eddie wants to cheer, and he’s sure it shows on his face. “We have to tell each other something we’ve never told anyone before. If you can’t think of something in 3 seconds, drink. If you know you’re not going to be able to think of something, you can ask for a question, and then you have to answer _that_ as honestly as possible. If you don’t want to answer the question, you have to drink.”

“Mm,” Richie says. “Bring it on, Spaghetti.”

-

“I shaved my legs in college, once,” Richie says. “Your turn.”

“You did _what?_ ” Eddie asks. “Hang on, I need reaction time. How was it?”

Richie smiles radiantly. “Fun! My legs were so smooth. Now, your turn.”

“Does that count as a secret? If other people knew, it doesn’t.”

Riche frowns. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know who was really paying attention to my legs. Now stop evading your turn, or like. Drink.”

“You have giraffe legs,” Eddie says.

“That’s not your secret, fucker,” Richie says.

“I dressed in drag one Halloween,” Eddie says. “How’s that for a secret?”

“Ah, very cute,” Richie says. “Do you have photos?”

“Probably, somewhere,” Eddie says. “Your turn.”

“I once put orange juice in my cornflakes. I was tired that morning.”

“Richie, that’s disgusting!”

“Tasted pretty good!”

-

“How did you get so mature?” Eddie asks.

They’ve drunk enough that they’re both slightly out of it. At some point, Eddie’d overbalanced and ended up with his head on Richie’s lap, and Richie’d begun to massage his scalp idly. At this point, they’d decided not to drink anymore. They were both at the stage where they really didn’t need to.

“Uhhhhh,” Richie says, scrunching up his face in thought. Eddie thinks it’s frankly adorable, and reaches out with one hand, intending to bop his nose. He gets distracted instead, presses his palm against Richie’s collarbone, fingers curling around Richie’s neck.

It’s a testament to how handsy they were as kids that Richie barely reacts to this new development, save for a light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Honestly?” Richie says, slurring the word a little, “I had some pretty good exes. I know that r’lationships aren’t like, substutes, for ther’py, yeah, spagets? But I learnt a lot from the two people I tried to have a steady r’lationship with, in college.”

“Tried to? Did not succeed at having that?” Eddie asks, his eyes a little droopy.

“Oh, you’re sleepy. Cute,” Richie says, trying to bop Eddie on the nose and accidentally sticking his finger up a nostril instead. It’s a testament to how sleepy Eddie is that he barely reacts to this.

“Nah,” Richie says, eventually. “Always felt like I was looking for s’mthing that wasn’ there.”

“Like you were in love with someone you couldn’t remember?” Eddie asks, his voice somehow coming out clearly.

Richie sighs, a deep sigh that seems to resonate through his entire body. “Yeah.”

“Mm,” Eddie says. He moves his fingers experimentally on Richie’s throat, entranced by the size and solidity of his Adam’s apple. “Trashthroat for Trashmouth.”

“What’dyou expect, Eds,” Richie murmured.

“I dunno,” Eddie says. “Are we gonna sleep on the floor?”

“No,” Richie says. He gets up, pulling Eddie up with him.

“Can we share a bed?” Eddie asks. His limbs feel like lead. “Like how we did when we were kids.”

“Oh,” Richie says, looking surprised. “Yeah. Le’s do that.”

They brush their teeth (Eddie, despite being incredibly drunk, insists on it) and wash their faces and then, go to bed, huddling up together under the covers.

Richie’s arm wraps around Eddie, and Eddie curls into the space against Richie’s body that Richie’s made for him.

“Earlier,” Richie says, with all the seriousness of someone with more liquid courage than blood in their body, “you said that I’d saved you. On the phone. R’membr?”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, Rich.”

“Tell me ‘bout it.”

Eddie feels almost sober in that moment.

“You broke me out of a cycle of abuse,” he says. It’s all he really has the strength to say. That, and, “I was going to marry someone who was almost exactly like my mother.”

“Fuck,” Richie says softly, sadly, sincerely. “That’s messed up, I’m glad you got out.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, already half asleep.

“D’you have her number?” Richie asks. “Women who are like your mother are the only women I like.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie says, but he smiles. “You said you’d stop making those jokes.”

“I’ve reduced the frequency,” Richie says, slurring the words very badly. “Can’t help it once in a while, you’re just too easy.”

Eddie huffs. “Goodnight, Richie.”

“Night night, Spaghetti,” Richie says.

Eddie closes his eyes. There’s something about this – being here, like this, with Richie’s arm anchoring him in place – that makes him feel like he belongs here. Like he’s been waiting to get here all his life.

-

His good mood is non-existent when he wakes up to an empty bed and a headache.

On the bed next to him is a glass of water and headache medicine, and he can smell breakfast cooking, so his good mood resurfaces immediately through the headache.

To be able to function normally after a bender like that one, hell, to be able to _cook breakfast_ after something like that – Richie is truly something, Eddie thinks, swallowing the pill.

It’s only once the pill’s down and he’s drunk the water that he realises this is his first time in years taking medication and not thinking of his mother.

He walks over to the kitchen, and sits at the table. Richie’s put together a whole hangover breakfast for him, complete with coffee and everything.

“Hi,” Eddie says, standing at the doorway.

“Hey fuckface, make yourself at home,” Richie says.

 _Make yourself at home_ , Richie’s said. Eddie thinks, in a grim moment of reality, that he’s spent most of his life not having a place that means home to him. The only time he’s ever felt at home is with the losers.

“This is my house now,” Eddie says, in lieu of anything else. He sits by the table, watches the way Richie’s hands move as he cooks things. “Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Richie says, his tone completely sincere. He sets down a plate of food in front of Eddie, and goes to get him a cup of coffee. “If 15 year old Richie could see this, ah. He’d love this.”

“Love what? Making hangover breakfast for me?”

Richie puts the coffee down next to Eddie’s plate, and sits across him. “Oh sure, I just meant. It used to tear me up inside, knowing how things were for you at home, and I used to want to just take you away from all of that. Knowing that you’re _here_ now, it’s like. It’s wonderful.”

 _You’d make a great husband,_ Eddie thinks. _You’ve always taken such good care of me. Made me feel cared for without smothering me. Given me space to breathe._

What comes out instead is, “You make a great breakfast. Is this something you do a lot?”

“Make breakfast for friends after nights of drinking irresponsibly?” Richie asks, and then laughs. “It’s a thing leftover from undergrad days, I think. I had a few friends who I was somewhat close to, and we’d go out and get drunk but we’d all also look out for each other.”

Eddie swallows. “Were they… like us?” he asks, meaning the Losers Club.

“To each other, maybe,” Richie says. “I don’t know. I’ve never met people I resonate with the way I resonated with the six of you. They were lovely and caring and kind, but I never felt truly understood or seen around them, not the way I did with the losers. I felt safe with them, so there’s that, at least. I suppose the amnesiac years could’ve been lonelier.”

Eddie hums.

“What about you, Spaghettio?” Richie asks.

“Call me that again and I’ll twist you into a human pretzel, I swear, Rich,” Eddie says, but he ruins the effect by smiling fondly. “I’m glad you had friends like that, and it wasn’t just you. It’s been… well. I’ve been alone in a lot of ways. I kind of fell under my mother’s thumb again, but I don’t think I ever believed that I was sick, even after I forgot. She still has this control over me, though, like, I know she’s going to call me, and going to cry and try and coerce me into doing whatever she wants, and. Ugh, I feel so weak whenever I think about it.”

Richie frowns. “Fuck that. Fuck her, Eds, she doesn’t deserve you.”

“I just wanted to be a good son,” Eddie says. It feels like too much, too revealing. In the light of day, cradling the mug of coffee in his hands and still feeling a little out of it, Richie sitting across him in crumpled clothes with messy hair and a gentle expression on his face, Eddie feels like he’s having some sort of out of body experience.

“She never let you,” Richie murmurs. “She took your love and your trust in her and turned it against you. It’s not your fault.”

Eddie looks up at Richie.

Richie looks back at him.

“For what it’s worth,” Richie says. “I think your father would be proud of you.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Eddie says, suddenly angry.

“I’m not! Eddie, I promise I’m not.” Richie looks desperate and sincere, like he’s begging Eddie to believe him. “My mom went to school with your dad. Based off what she’s told me about him, I think he would be very proud of the person you are and who you’re becoming.”

Eddie blinks. He knows he’s going to cry, and Richie can probably tell, too, because he gets up and moves to Eddie’s side of the table, carefully enveloping Eddie in a hug while still standing.

Eddie relaxes into Richie, pressing his face into his chest. He thinks, unsolicitedly, that with the weird multicoloured pattern Richie’s got going on his t-shirt, Eddie could get snot, tears and maybe even blood on it and nobody would probably notice. This revelation makes him laugh.

“What’s so funny, Spaghetti?” Richie asks, but Eddie can hear the relief in his voice. He shifts, moving his arms to wrap his arms around Richie.

“You’re my handkerchief,” Eddie says.

“Asshole,” Richie says fondly, gently pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. Eddie thinks he stops breathing for a minute.

Richie moves aside.

“We should visit my parents some time,” Richie says. “They’d love to see you.”

“They remember me?” Eddie asks. “Where do they live?”

“Uh, they’re like, a 30 minute ride from here by cab. And they didn’t remember you at first – clown magic, right? But I described you to them, and it clicked immediately.”

“Makes sense,” Eddie says. “I spent more time at your house than at mine, anyway.”

Richie gives Eddie a little smile.

“So, any plans for today?” Richie asks.

“I was thinking of checking in with the office,” Eddie says. “I know I don’t have to start work immediately, but it’d be good to meet my boss and just sorta show my face there, you know?”

“And what a cute face it is,” Richie says, smiling. “D’you want me to call a cab for you?”

“I’ll manage, but I’ll tell you if I need any help,” Eddie says. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“Ugh, need to write a bit for a new set,” Richie says. “It’s a self-imposed deadline, don’t worry. You know I postponed a ton of shows.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Uh, I’m angling this to maybe spend an hour talking to my new boss about expectations and commitments, and the office is like, 45 minutes from here, so it’s probably safe to say I’ll be home by late afternoon?”

“That’s good,” Richie says. “I was thinking, uh. Later today, if you want to? We could work out how we’re going to contact the other losers.”

“Did you have any ideas?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Richie says. “I was thinking we could split them into halves and you handle one half and I handle the other half. We could maybe call on speakerphone, or send emails we’ve written together, too, but I think it’s an easier delegation of work if you take 3 and I take 3. Just like. Be in charge of them.”

“Right, just for the organisation,” Eddie says. “Also, since when did you start talking like a grown up?”

“Since I _actually_ grew up, keep with the times,” Richie says, and smiles sweetly. “But also, I think this will work. Because it’ll be much easier for me to reach out to the famous losers than you, given that I’m technically famous, you know?”

“RIP Losers Club,” Eddie says, raising his coffee mug like it’s a glass of champagne. “Now divided into Verified Twitter Gang and Original Losers.”

Richie laughs.

“I’m going to get ready for work,” Eddie says, fighting the urge to kiss Richie’s cheek before he walks out of the room. _When did he get so domestic?_

20 minutes later, he’s back down wearing his favourite dark blue suit. Richie wolf whistles as Eddie walks to the door, carrying his work bag. It’s a sleek, black thing – a laptop bag for a tiny laptop, which works. Eddie’s never really felt the need to have a very large laptop screen.

“An upgrade from the fanny pack era, I see,” Richie says, because _of course._

“You’re not the only one who grew up, Tozier,” Eddie says, but then, gives Richie a serious look. “Do I really look okay?”

“You look perfect, Eds,” Richie says. “I would leave my wife for you.”

“Oh my god, you asshole,” Eddie says, but it makes him grin all the same. “See you later today!”

“Call me if you need anything,” Richie says, and Eddie thinks it’s strange how Richie keeps calling _him_ cute and then saying things like that. It’s too clear to Eddie who the _actual_ cute person is in this dynamic.

“Yeah, you too,” he says. “Bye!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it really makes my day knowing how many of you love this / find this wholesome / have made a home for this AU in your heart / are looking forward to updates. i love you all very much.
> 
> you might've noticed that i added the "slow burn" tag to this work, so buckle up :') 
> 
> also: i'm not prioritizing this fic over real life or whatever, i'm just at this weird juncture where it feels like i can't do anything right Except this fic. who am i to cut short my most reliable serotonin source, yeah? it's keeping me going.


	7. compartmentalizing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "compartmentalizing" isn't really the best name for this chapter but it's the best i've got. 
> 
> 2\. i find it funny that either nobody noticed OR nobody pointed out that in the last chapter i essentially said that 3 + 3 + 2 = 7 ??? i'm not changing it though because it's richie's dialogue and i guess he was too distracted by eddie to do maths? pretty hilarious hmmm 
> 
> 3\. this is the last chapter we get with just R + E before the other losers show up! like i was telling my sister, stan was SUPPOSED to make his grand entry in this chapter but unfortunately for stan, these two talk too much, so next chapter it is
> 
> 4\. brief interaction between eddie and his mother! it is unpleasant because Obviously, so just be prepared for that.
> 
> i think i had something else to say. i don't remember

Maybe it’s Richie looking at him like that that gives Eddie the courage to do it. Richie always saw the better parts of him, Eddie thinks sardonically as he sits in the cab and looks out of the window. It was reassuring in a way, that Richie knew all of Eddie’s weaknesses and flaws and neuroses and fears and still believed he was a strong person.

Time to do justice to that version of Eddie Kaspbrak; the Eddie Kaspbrak that Richie seemed to think kicked ass all the time.

Eddie takes his phone, which he’s been studiously ignoring save for calling a cab, and before he calls his mother back, quickly skims through the notifications.

Richie’s made a tweet about not having a boyfriend, something along the lines of “ **the man in those photos is my childhood best friend, of course i love him you weirdos now stop being weird and let him live his life** ” along with “ **if i REALLY had a boyfriend you wouldn’t hear the end of it from me i promise** ”. Eddie smiles, considers texting Richie about it but refrains. He needs to call his mother.

She picks up on the first ring. Eddie looks out of the car window, wills his breathing to quiet down.

“Eddie-bear,” she coos, and he hears everything in it – disappointment, care, syrup sweet and patronizing, the tone of _why won’t you let me take care of you?_

It hits him in the gut, and he zones out a little, not paying attention, before he forces himself to be present again.

She’s talking, disappointed about why he left Myra, “She was so good for you, you know that, don’t you? You needed someone like her in your life, someone to watch over you and protect you!” and Eddie swallows, his silence suddenly feeling loud.

“Mom, stop,” he says. He feels a pang of finality, the same feeling he’d felt after breaking his arm and realising the truth about the placebos. “Listen, I know you care about me. But I’m an adult now. I make my own decisions. And I chose to be here. This is what I want.”

“But, Eddie-bear –”

“No,” Eddie says. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I just want you to respect me, and let me make my own choices, whether you like them or not. I don’t want you to take care of me.”

“Someone clearly needs to,” his mother says. “I mean, shacking up with that Tozier boy, _really,_ Eddie. This rebellion needs to stop. You need to come home. You need to come back to me.”

Eddie feels as if something in his body sours. “Richie’s looked after me better than you ever have, in your entire life,” he says. “He actually loves me for who I am. Not just someone who needs protecting. He sees me as a whole person.”

 _All the losers do, and that’s why I want them back,_ Eddie thinks. But he knows at the same time that Richie gets a special mention.

Eddie hears the intake of breath on the other side of the line, knows she’s going to start off on a spiel of hatred or patronizing cruelty.

“I’ve made my choice, and I don’t want your judgement,” he says. “I don’t want your involvement, I don’t want your care, I don’t want _anything_ you have to offer. I’m done with letting you make me feel bad, with giving you the power to make me feel like this. I can’t believe you convinced me I was sick, that there was something wrong with me, all these years. I’m fine.”

“Now, Eddie. We both know that’s not true.”

Eddie knows. He knows that he has a long way to go before he can consider himself okay, but he also knows that he’s making choices that will lead him there. He also knows that nobody’s really 100% healthy. That everybody has their own issues, and this is his. And he knows, with absolute certainty, that:

“You’re not making me feel any better,” Eddie tells his mother. “You’ve only ever made it worse. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you don’t contact me again. Ever.”

“Eddie bear,” she says, and she’s crying now, what the fuck, but also, Eddie thinks uncharitably, _took you long enough_ , “why are you saying these things? He’s turned you against me, hasn’t he? Have you been taking your medicines?”

“Take care of yourself, Mom,” Eddie says. “Go stay with your sisters for a while. I’m not coming back.”

When he finally reaches the office, he gives the cab driver a generous tip. And before entering, he visits the café right next door and orders a coffee.

And sitting there, waiting for his coffee and trying not to cry, he calls Richie.

-

“You did what?” Richie asks, and Eddie can hear that he’s smiling. “Eddie, that’s such a big step. I’m so proud of you for telling your mom to fuck off.”  
  
Eddie wipes a tear off his face with his hand. “You don’t think I was too harsh,” he murmurs.

“No, absolutely not,” Richie says. “I know you know this, but she’s trying to make you feel guilty. Don’t let her succeed. Your first priority should always be yourself. Not your mother, not me, not the other five losers, not your job. You have to put yourself first. Always.”

“Hmm,” Eddie says. “When did you get so wise?”

“Upgraded my brain at the local help centre when I heard you were visiting,” Richie says, and that doesn’t even make sense but Eddie still smiles. “Ah, the things I do for you, Spaghetti.”

“I appreciate all of them,” Eddie says. “Well, except the clothes you wear for me. I swear, Rich, it’s like you’re _trying_ to give me a headache.”

Richie cackles. “Better than your choice in clothes, Eds. You look like a 40 year old dad. And I mean that in a sad way, not in a ‘hot dilf’ way.”

“Dilf?” Eddie asks. “No, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, closes his eyes. Thinks.

“You know what,” he tells Richie, “Maybe we _should_ buy me new clothes. I think a rebranding is in order.”

He thinks of all the time he’d spent, not buying clothes without Myra’s express approval. Of the one time he’d borrowed one of Richie’s gaudy shirts when they were both in school and his mother had firmly reprimanded him for it. As if there was something shameful in sharing clothes with his best friend.

“HELL YEAH, SPAGHETTI!” Richie cheers on the other end of the phone. “This is absolutely what I love to see. Take charge of your life, you adorably tiny little man.”

“I hope you understand that I’m not endorsing your understanding of fashion in any way,” Eddie says. “You’re a man who likes men, I don’t understand why you dress like _that_.”

“Ouch,” Richie says, but he’s laughing, and he’s laughing in the way he only does for the jokes he finds funniest so Eddie considers it a win. “Eddie Kaspbrak gets off on a good one! Once we get Bev back, maybe we can pay her to dress me. Good investment, Mr Risk Analyst?”

“The best,” Eddie agrees. After a minute of companionable silence, he says, “Thank you for this. I’m going to go and meet my boss now, yeah?”

“Yes, okay,” Richie says. “Good luck with that. Text me afterwards to tell me how it goes.”

Eddie agrees. He’s smiling when he hangs up.

-

Eddie, to his surprise, really likes his new boss. They click right away, and he’s shown his cubicle and he gets to meet some of his colleagues. Everyone’s been told that he has a family emergency, and he’s given a brief orientation. Everything’s very low-pressure.

He’s smiling when he leaves the building, and he texts Richie to tell him that it’s gone well.

Richie calls him.

“Hi,” Eddie says. “Missing me already?”

“Wow, forgive me for calling my best friend,” Richie says. He’s silent for a minute, and Eddie waits.

“I’m glad that went well, it’s really good to hear,” Richie says, and he sounds sincere, but something about his tone sounds off at the same time. Sirens wail in Eddie’s head.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Richie says unconvincingly.

“Rich….”

“No,” Richie says, more convincingly. “Eds. Things are not alright. Have you seen my mentions on twitter?”

“Hang on a second, I can check,” Eddie says.

“No, wait, I’ll just tell you. Some people think the whole mental health thing isn’t real,” Richie says. “They think I’m faking a reason for a hiatus just to hang out with my top secret boyfriend.”

“What the fuck,” Eddie says. “They’ve been _tagging you_ in tweets calling your mental health stuff invalid? Saying that you cancelled your tour just to, what, have sex with me?”

Richie makes some sort of wheezing noise. “Basically. And Eds, I know I don’t owe anybody anything, but it’s making me feel really shitty.”

Eddie frowns. “What do you want to do? I mean, how do you want to move forwards?”

“I think there’s this really unhealthy notion out there that trauma survivors need to always be miserable,” Richie says. “If you seem like you’re happy at any point, your trauma’s invalidated, or it’s like, _it probably wasn’t that bad_ , you know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” Eddie says. “People want to see the impact of it, visibly. Like, it’s not the same thing, I know, but someone in college once heard me talking about my mom and said something about how it’s sweet that she cares that much about me, and I sort of knew immediately that even if I opened up about her being abusive, they wouldn’t believe me. Because they had this idea about how an abusive parent looks, and this idea of how a nurturing parent looks. And they wouldn’t engage with my life with an unbiased mind. You know?”

“Eds, I’m sorry,” Richie says. “That sucks. You didn’t deserve that.”

“But that’s what I mean,” Eddie says. “Some people will believe whatever they want to, and it’s not our problem, it’s theirs, you know? The assumptions people make say more about them than about us.”

“Losers Club pep talk, yes,” Richie says. Eddie can tell that he’s smiling. “I love it.”

Eddie smiles.

“Anyway, I feel like making a statement,” Richie says. “But not for the people being judgemental. For anyone who’s a trauma survivor, who’s following me. Just saying that we’re allowed to be happy. We’re allowed to do whatever we want. We don’t need to be visibly traumatized for our trauma to be considered real.”

“Like that video, your ‘cycles of trauma’ one,” Eddie says.

“You watched that?” Richie asks.

“Yeah, of course. It was really good,” Eddie says. “Relevant. Useful. Comforting. Necessary. Good job, asshole.”

Richie laughs, but it sounds a little wet, as if he’s crying at the same time.

“Might just make a series of tweets this time,” Richie says.

“Whatever works for you, bro,” Eddie says. Then, changing the subject, he asks, “Is Rocky road still your favourite flavour of ice-cream?”

“Yes, why?” Richie asks.

“I’m buying you a tub of that on the way home,” Eddie says. “Pretend to be surprised.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Richie says. “But uh. Thank you.”

“The fuck are you thanking me for? You’d do the same for me, and you know it.”

Richie hums.

Eddie decided that it is enough of an acknowledgement.

-

He gets home, and reads Richie’s tweets over his shoulder. Once Richie’s hit the “send tweet” button, Eddie pulls Richie’s phone out of his hands and puts it face down on the table. He then deposits the tub of ice-cream, wet with condensation, onto Richie’s lap, opening it quickly and sticking a spoon in it.

“I’m going to make myself some tea, alright?” Eddie asks.

“Wow, you’re really a force to be reckoned with, huh,” Richie says, more to himself than to Eddie. “Okay. O _kay_. You go do that, then.”

When Eddie’s back with a mug of tea, it’s to Richie who’s already eaten a quarter of the ice-cream, and who’s turned his laptop on and is, for some reason, scribbling in a notepad.

Eddie sits down next to him, jams an elbow against him gently. “What’s all this, then?”

“Just deciding who should talk to whom,” Richie says. “For the Losers Club Reunion getting the gang back together main event.”

“Bev, Bill and you are actually famous,” Eddie points out. “I think you should maybe take Stan? You’re closer to him than I am.”

Richie hums. “Yeah, can do. But for what it’s worth, I think it’d be better if you talk to Bev.”

“Really?”

“You both had, I don’t know,” Richie looks uneasy. “Let’s just say, more bonding over trauma than the rest of us.”

Eddie remembers, with startling clarity, that he’d once told Bev how much he hated his mother.

Bev had looked at him with her wise eyes, eyes that looked so much older than a teenager’s, and she’d said, her voice brooking no argument, “Okay, well, screw her then. I’m your mother now.”

And there had been another incident, Eddie recalls, featuring Bev, her bruises, and a slice of cheesecake he’d bought her to try and cheer her up.

“You deserve so much better than this,” Eddie had said to her, as she’d eaten the strawberry on the top of the cake with the spoon. “Fuck your father, Bev. I’m your dad now.”

Bev had giggled, and said something about how he was tiny, and Eddie’d protested good naturedly, and told her that she was spending too much time with Richie, he wasn’t tiny, he was just growing at a different pace from the rest of them, and besides, a tiny man could be a perfectly adequate father, thank _you_ very much Beverly Marsh.

“I mean, okay, I know what you mean,” Eddie says, realising that Richie’s still waiting for an answer. “But Bev was close to you, too. In a different way from the rest of us.”

Eddie’s thinking of how Richie and Bev would get high and giggly together. And share clothes, and make each other mixtapes, and how once he’d seen Richie paint her nails for her. Sometimes they’d read magazines together, and talk in low voices. Eddie had always known that there were things Richie told Bev that he probably didn’t tell anybody else.

“Bev knew I liked boys,” Richie says, and Eddie nods, waiting for him to go on. “I told her. I figured she’d like knowing that she wasn’t the only Loser who swung that way.”

“That was brave,” Eddie says.

“Oh, no, I was high and it was mostly an accident,” Richie says, with a nervous laugh. “She was saying something about how nice Bill’s hands are, and I was just like _yes but have you seen Stan’s hands they’re gorgeous_ and she was like, _Didn’t know you were into boys’ hands, Richie_ , and I figured, maybe it’s okay if she knows. She’s _Bev_ , you know? Telling people was definitely scary, but telling Bev was less scary. Still scary though.”

“Still brave,” Eddie says. “Give yourself some credit, man. That’s a big deal.”

“If you say so,” Richie says, attempting to sound nonchalant. Eddie knows it’s time to drop it. “So, who should talk to Bev?”

“Both of us, maybe?” Eddie says. “We can draft an email together or call her on speakerphone or something.”

Richie gets his phone out, and begins to scroll through Bev’s twitter, but Eddie puts a hand on Richie’s hand, stopping him, staring at the phone in surprise.

“You mean to say,” he says. “All this time, you and Bev were mutuals? _All this time?_ ”

“I don’t think we’ve ever really interacted,” Richie says.

“Rich, we can just slide into her DMs,” Eddie says, frustrated. “This is so easy. I can’t _believe_ you didn’t mention this. She manages her own twitter, right?”  
  


“Yes,” Richie says. “I think she does.”

“Ok, so we’ll both DM her off your account,” Eddie says. “I think I can call Mike. He’s Derry’s librarian, all his contact details are listed on the Derry Library website.”

“Calling his work phone? That’s mischievous,” Richie says, smirking, helping himself to a generous spoonful of ice-cream.

“Hey, wait,” Eddie says. “We have Stan’s LinkedIn, right? Can we get his work number off there?”

“Oh my god, Spaghetti,” Richie gasps. “Genius. I’m on it, like, right now.”

It’s not there on Stan’s profile, but Richie does some lurking and some cross-checking of profiles, and finally has a number that he’s around 80% sure is the right number.

“What if we get him fired or something?” Eddie asks.

“You know Stan,” Richie says. “Sensible, level-headed, Stan the Man. If he can’t talk to us at work, he’ll probably tell us.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “So tonight, I’m going to call Mike, and you’re going to call Stan. We’ll DM Bev after this. What about Ben and Bill?”

“Ben has an email, but it’s only for work enquiries,” Richie says. “And while I get some happy feeling of satisfaction misusing Mike and Stan’s work contact info, I don’t think I could do that to Ben. He’s too… genuinely sweet.”

“I bet Ben has a Facebook,” Eddie says.

“Ugh, I don’t want to use my Facebook,” Richie complains. “The _things_ I do for you, Spaghetti.”

“You’re doing it, right? I deleted my Facebook,” Eddie says.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Mom and my ex breathing down my neck, obviously,” Eddie says, with a sour laugh. “Not like it was any fun, anyway. Turns out there’s not much point of social networks when you’ve forgotten all your friends.”

“Aw, that sucks,” Richie says. “Ok, I message Ben. What do we do with Bill?”

“Let’s check his book tour information,” Eddie says. “I think that’d be easiest.”

“No, wait, wait,” Richie says. “Uh, it says here he’s mutuals with Ben on twitter?”

“Just Ben?” Eddie asks.

“Just Ben,” Richie confirms.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “We can do this.”

“Let’s watch a shitty movie first,” Richie says, shifting his laptop to the side and propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Action or horror?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna respond to all comments as soon as i can - uni and just life in general have been exhausting me but like. every comment i get makes me smile. i love that y'all love this, and i love that you're up in my inbox telling me how much you love this. i'm NOT ignoring anybody, i promise!!! if u left a comment pls know that i've seen it + am grateful!!! 
> 
> ok that's it for now. much love to everyoneeeee


	8. reconvening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally!!! mike and stan content!!  
> tysm to my sister for reassuring me about the first half of this chapter (hope u like the second!!)  
> mike! and! stan!

They order dinner again, given that both of them are too busy anticipating what’s going to happen to actually cook anything. Eddie and Richie sit there, Mike and Stan’s contact details in front of them, holding their phones in their hands, on two opposite ends of the sofa but close enough that if one of them were to stretch their leg their knees would hit awkwardly.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “I’m calling Mike.”

Richie takes a shallow breath. “Okay,” he says softly.

Eddie keys the number in, careful to get all the digits right. He listens to the dial tone, and then he hears the person on the other end.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

It’s not Mike Hanlon. It sounds like a woman.

Eddie frowns. “May I speak to Mike Hanlon, please?” he asks, because it’s worth a try.

“Ah, Mike’s in the back, shelving some books,” she says. “Please hold the line, Sir, I’ll get him.”

There’s the sound of footsteps and muffled talking.

Eddie feels the unease pooling in his chest, and maybe Richie can see it, because he puts one of his hands on Eddie’s ankle, fingers splayed out against the arch of his foot.

“Hello?” a voice asks, and something shifts in the pit of Eddie’s stomach. Memories of laughter, picnic blankets, the farmhouse, watching the sunset from a bedroom window, Mike teaching him to fly a kite, the taste of homemade jam on freshly baked bread, and the comforting sense of stability and wisdom that Mike had always possessed hit him at the same time.

“Mike,” Eddie says. He doesn’t think he’s capable of much speech, but he has to say _something,_ so he goes with, “I’m not sure if you remember me, but it’s Eddie here?”

Eddie isn’t sure what he’ll do if Mike doesn’t remember him, what he’ll say next. But Eddie’s in luck, because Mike makes an astonished noise.

“Eddie _Kaspbrak_?” he asks, and Eddie can’t help the grin that it puts on his face.

“Yeah, it’s me!” he says, suddenly feeling like a teenager all over again. “You remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Mike says. “I never forgot.”

Eddie swallows. “You remember…. all of us?”

“All the time,” Mike says, and he sounds wistful. “My best guess is that what happens in Derry stays in Derry, so when you leave, you forget most of it. Of course, it could also be clown magic. How did you remember?”

“I was watching Richie’s stuff,” Eddie says, and looks to his right where Richie’s seated next to him, watching him with a soft expression. “I couldn’t help thinking that he looked familiar. And then he called himself Trashmouth, and something just clicked and fell into place. I remembered everything.”

“Oh,” Mike says. It’s somehow more understanding and empathetic than one syllable could possibly be. “How are you handling it?”

“It was exactly what I needed,” Eddie admits. “I needed those memories. So that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.”

“Mmhm,” Mike says. “I’ve wanted to reach out to you all so much, you know. I watch Richie’s shows, read Bev’s catalogues and Bill’s books, look at Ben’s portfolio, all of that. I miss all of you all the time.”

“Why didn’t you reach out?” Eddie asks.

Mike sighs. “I’ve been saddled with the task of remembering,” he says. “Eddie, it’s so heavy. I wouldn’t want to burden you all with it unless I absolutely had to.”

“But it’s not a burden if we’re all holding the weight of it together,” Eddie says, gently, cautiously. “That’s what the Losers club is all about.”

“I wanted to,” Mike admits. “But it made me so guilty. I figured, maybe if you’d all forgotten the clown, maybe you’d finally have a shot at happiness.”

“The seven of us are a system, though,” Eddie admits. “I don’t know if we can ever really be happy without each other.”

“I’ll give you that,” Mike agrees. “That does sound right. So. How’re you going about this?”

“I’m with Richie right now,” Eddie says. “You’re the first person we’ve reached out to, we’re going to call the others later. Do you want to say hello to Richie?”

“Oh man, do I ever,” Mike says, laughs. It sounds carefree, sincere. “Give him the phone, then.”

The doorbell rings, and Eddie gives Richie the phone and gets up from his seat to pay the delivery man.

When he returns with the food, it’s to hear Richie’s booming laugh.

“Oh god,” Richie’s saying. “I can’t believe this, seriously. Only you could probably make an anecdote like that actually interesting. That’s beautiful.”

Mike says something on the other end, and Richie hums, and laughs. There’s something relaxed about his posture that wasn’t like that before, the lines of tension previously present just not there anymore.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll let you eat, then,” he says. “Spaghetti’s got our dinner here too, so same hat. That’s what the kids are calling it, right?”

Mike says something, and Richie smiles. “Yeah, okay. Eddie and I love you. We should hang out somewhere that isn’t Derry. Maybe just for one weekend? I don’t know, you tell me. Yeah. This is Eddie’s number, text him off your phone, okay? Okay. Goodnight, take care.”

Richie hangs up, and looks into the distance, smiling fondly.

“It was good, wasn’t it?” Eddie asks. “Hearing his voice?”

“Absolutely,” Richie says, his eyes suspiciously shiny.

“What did he say?” Eddie asks, beginning to unwrap the food.

“He said that he was proud of me,” Richie says, so softly that Eddie has to strain to hear it. And then, louder and in a more even tone, he says, “He told me about this incident that happened featuring rogue chickens, and it was hilarious, but also. I can’t even comprehend his resilience, man.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Staying in Derry after everything that happened there, and genuinely making the best out of it,” Richie says, his tone wondering. “Mike’s really something else, isn’t he?”

“I was thinking that too,” Eddie says. “It’s a big sacrifice, though. He shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“Do you want to go to Derry, again?” Richie asks.

“Oh, hell no, not if we can help it,” Eddie says. “I think once we’ve got the others to remember, the six of us should call Mike. A video call or something. Remind him that he’s got us in his corner. We can get him out of Derry.”

“I don’t know if he’ll want to leave,” Richie says. “He told me that until he sees the clown die, he isn’t sure if it’s safe to believe that it’s gone. Apparently, it’s done this before. Seemed permanently dead and then respawned after a few decades.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Eddie says.

“It hibernates,” Richie says. “According to the research Mike’s been doing.”

Eddie thinks he might just have a panic attack. “So it’s not over?”

“Unclear,” Richie says, shooting him an apologetic look. “It could be. It might not be.”

“Fuck, Rich, I don’t want to do this again,” Eddie murmurs, leaning against Richie.

“Yeah, me neither,” Richie says, the vehemence in it coming through clearly. “But we have to, Eds. It’s not fair, but it’s just how things are.”

They contemplate that for a minute, and then they eat dinner before it gets too cold. Then, as Eddie watches, Richie calls Stan.

“I’d like to talk to Stanley Uris, please,” Richie says. There’s indistinct talking on the other end.

“Yes, I understand,” Richie says. “Do you think you could redirect me to his personal number then? This is a very urgent matter. I can’t really say much, unfortunately. Classified information, very sensitive. Other than Mr. Uris, nobody has been authorized to receive this information.”

Richie mimes scribbling something, and Eddie reaches out across the coffee table and hands him a ballpoint pen. Richie writes the number down on the back of the receipt from dinner.

“Thank you so much,” he says. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He hangs up.

“I had no idea you could be that formal and polite,” Eddie says, wonderingly.

“I’m a man of many talents, Spaghedward,” Richie says, smirking.

Eddie glares at him.

“Okay, but she was just the receptionist,” Richie says. “They apparently have someone in there after hours, until around nine? I hadn’t realised we’d gotten this late. Stan’s definitely at home right now.”

“She just gave you his number? Just like that?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, maybe she was a trainee or something?” Richie speculates. “Or maybe my telephone voice is trustworthy, which, gonna be honest, is new.”

“Well, we’ve got Stan’s number,” Eddie points out. “What are we waiting for?”

-

They were apparently waiting for Richie to make them both some tea. Richie and Eddie sit together on the couch, sipping at their tea. Finally, half done with his mug, Richie gets up, holding his phone in his hand.

“Wish me luck, Spaghetti,” he says.

“Where are _you_ going?” Eddie asks.

“Not going anywhere,” Richie promises. He keys the number in, holds the phone up to his ear. “Just gonna pace. I find it easier to talk like this.”

He goes quiet, waiting for Stan to pick up.

Eddie can tell when Stan picks up the phone, because Richie stills abruptly.

“Yeah, hi Stanley,” Richie says, which is just strange to hear. “This is Richie. Richie Tozier, from Derry? The only one of your friends who came for your bar mitzvah?”

Richie’s face does something complicated that Eddie can’t decipher.

“Seriously? Dude, that shouldn’t be possible. How much do you remember?”

Richie looks just sad now.

“Well, at least now you have some context for feeling like that, yeah? You know where those feelings are coming from.”

Richie begins to pace, as promised. He has a small frown on his face, his forehead creased. It’s a weirdly sombre look for Richie Tozier’s face.

“No, Stan, holy shit, what do you take me for? No fucking way I’m making you go to Derry, man. Nothing’s even happened yet. Listen, enough of this gloomy bullshit. Tell me something nice. Seen any cool new birds lately?”

As Eddie watches, the tension seeps out of Richie’s body. The look of concern is replaced by a gentle smile as he stares into the distance.

“You’re such a grandfather,” Richie says, but it’s fond. “Tell me something else, Staniel. What’s one really good thing about your life right now?”

A gasp. “Really? Stan, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you. Tell me about her?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. Richie notices him, and gives him an apologetic look.

“One sec, Stan, hold that thought,” Richie says. “I’m here with Eddie right now. I’ll put this on speakerphone so that he can hear you too. You sound so happy, it’s really lovely hearing that sort of contentment from you.”

Richie moves closer to Eddie, and Eddie can vaguely make out the syllables of Stan’s voice on the other end of the line. He sounds snarky.

Richie’s guffaw confirms this. “Yes, Stanley, I grew up. The passage of time does that to everyone, evidently. Including me.”

Stan asks something, and Richie’s smile falls flat off his face. “No,” he says. “No, and let’s not talk about this right now, okay? I’m putting you on speakerphone.”

Eddie moves closer to Richie, considers curling an arm around Richie’s waist but stops himself, noticing how still Richie’s being. Richie puts the phone onto speakerphone, and leaves it on the table. Eddie, who’s finished drinking his own cup of tea, picks up Richie’s mug and drinks from it, just for something to do.

“Okay, so, Eddie,” Richie says. “Stan was just telling me about his wife.”

“You got married?” Eddie asks, surprised. “Holy shit, congratulations! I’m so happy for you.”

“Yes, I got married,” Stan says. He sounds familiar enough that Eddie thinks he would’ve recognized him on the street just from the sound of his voice. Something inside him aches. “You’re now talking to Mr and Mrs Patricia Blum.”

“You took your wife’s name?” Eddie asks.

“No, she’s a Uris now,” Stan says. “I just like referring to myself like that.”

“Tell us about her!” Richie says. He sounds very excited.

“I don’t know what to say,” Stan says, and he laughs softly to himself. “She’s very vibrant, extroverted, outgoing. She quite literally changed my life.”

“You sound so in love,” Eddie says, wondering.

Richie cackles. “I know, doesn’t he? Love’s made you soft, Stanny.”

“You’d get along with Patty, Richie,” Stan says. “Unfortunately for me. She loves jokes and general light-heartedness, and she’s always down to discuss arcane things for long periods of time.”

“Are you giving me the green light to steal your wife?” Richie asks, cackling. “Because you know I will, Staniel. You’ve already been demoted to position of Second Favourite Uris.”

“If Patty’s first, I don’t mind the demotion,” Stan says. “But good luck stealing my wife. She’s got better taste in men than you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” Eddie says, confused.

“Stan, shut up,” Richie says. “Beep beep, Stanley Uris.”

“Is this a thing you’re doing now?” Stan asks drily. Eddie imagines him rolling his eyes.

“He did that to me, too,” Eddie says. “The beep, beep, I mean. Maybe it’s a part of his character development arc.”

“Hello, I’m right here,” Richie says, but he doesn’t look offended. If anything, he looks happier than Eddie’s seen him in a while. “I’m mostly just upset that you said that I’d vibe with your wife and then refuse to acknowledge how special I am to you, for you to marry someone on the same wavelength as me.”

“Oh my god, please never use the word ‘vibe’ again,” Stan says. “And you joke, but honestly… I met Patty at the GSA in our college, and I attended the first GSA meeting because I felt like I should do it? Even though I couldn’t remember you, Richie, something in the back of my head was reminding me that I had a queer best friend, and that attending the GSA meeting was something that I should do, despite not actually identifying as LGBT. And then I met Patty.”

“That’s really cute,” Eddie says, mostly because Richie isn’t saying anything. The reason Richie isn’t saying anything is –

“Fuck, I can’t believe you made me cry,” Richie says, rubbing at his face with one hand. “Stan, I was only joking. You met Patty in a GSA meeting that you only attended because you missed _me_? What the fuck. What the _fuck_.”

Eddie puts an arm around Richie, confident in the knowledge that if Stan were physically there in the flesh, he would definitely wrap an arm around Richie. Richie leans against Eddie, puts his head on his shoulder.

“Patty’s pretty open about this, and proud of this, and I know she wouldn’t mind you both knowing so. She’s a trans woman,” Stan tells them. “That’s why she was at the GSA, it was her first meeting too. Neither of us actually liked it much.”

“No?” Eddie asks. Richie is still sniffling.

“No,” Stan confirms. “Most of the people there were too full of themselves. So Patty looks at me, right, and she says, want to get out of here? And I say, yes, sure, but let’s fill our bottles with some spiked punch first. So we do that, and then we go to one of the terraces on the college campus and look at the sky and. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Yeah, of course,” Richie says, his voice soft. His eyes are slightly red from the crying, but his voice is steady.

“I knew I wanted her in my life always, in some capacity,” Stan says. “I wasn’t sure what capacity, and what that could mean. But it was like… we went from being strangers to being best friends. There was no in-between. And it took us a while, but we figured it out. Started dating. She popped the question, not me. I said yes. It was genuinely impossible for me to have said no.”

“That’s lovely,” Eddie says softly. “I’m so happy for you, Stan.”

“Thank you,” Stan says warmly.

“Can’t wait to meet her,” Richie says.

“We’ll make it happen,” Stan says. “Call again and say hello to her over the phone later, if you want.”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “It was lovely hearing from you.”

“Likewise,” Stan says, and Eddie knows from the way the word sounds that Stan is smiling as he says it. “Now uh. Sorry, but Richie, could I speak to you for a minute? Alone?”

Richie’s expression sours. He looks almost afraid, Eddie thinks. “Yeah, give me a sec,” he says, and then takes his phone and walks to the balcony. He closes the door, so Eddie can’t hear the conversation, but it being a glass door, Eddie can see Richie’s expressions.

Eddie doesn’t mind, not really. He’s always known that Richie and Stan were especially close.

But that doesn’t mean that he’s prepared for what happens around six minutes later when Richie enters the living room again, and puts his phone down, having ended the call already.

“I’m going to Atlanta to see Stan,” Richie says. There’s something grim in his eyes that Eddie can’t fully understand. “Do you want to come along with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much love to everyone! hope y'all liked this <3  
> 


	9. forethinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell that i love bev marsh??? good, because i love her.  
> this chapter is a Little Shorter than the usual chapter is, but i didn't want to oversaturate it with Things, idk. hope y'all enjoy!

Eddie logically knows it’s irrational to be jealous. That doesn’t mean his feelings get the memo. He frowns, meeting Richie’s eyes, trying to suss out what’s going on without asking outright.

Richie doesn’t give him anything to work with, which is scary in its own way. Richie’s usually transparent in how he feels. If he’s actively trying to hide something, it must be something big.

 _You’ll drop everything and run to Stan?_ Eddie wants to ask, but that’s not a question he’s allowed to ask. He knows that there’s a line. He cares too much about Richie to overstep it.

“Rich, this is coming out of nowhere,” Eddie says instead. It’s not a no, but it’s not a yes either.

Richie hums, likely having anticipated something like this.

“Let’s just say that I made him a promise, when we were kids,” Richie says. And now suddenly, like impact from collision, Eddie thinks he can recognize the look on Richie’s face. It’s some ugly and horrible thing between fear, anxiety and grief.

Eddie never wants to see that look on Richie’s face.

“Of course I’ll come with you to Atlanta,” Eddie says. He does not say _I’ll come with you anywhere, after all, I just got you back._ He wants to, though, looking at the way Richie’s looking at him, with befuddled gratitude. Like Eddie’s a blank square on the newspaper’s daily sudoku column and Richie doesn’t know what number to fill.

“We’re here to get everyone back together, after all,” Eddie says, moving closer to Richie. “I’m in it until the very end. But could you tell me a little more about what brought this on? You’re freaking me out a little.”

Richie takes a deep breath, nods, not really looking at Eddie.

“I’m worried about Stan,” he says. “I want to be there with him, in person.”

The ugly pang of jealousy is back, no matter how hard Eddie tries to quash it. It makes him queasy, how easy it is for him to hurt. He remembers how adamant Richie had been when he’d spoken to him on the phone, about not having the initiative or energy to meet the others.

 _You wouldn’t have come for me,_ an ugly voice in Eddie’s head wants to say. _I came to you. I’ve been running towards you my entire life._

Eddie looks at Richie, and Richie looks back at him.

“Why?” Eddie asks, softly. And it’s the wrong question, the wrong way of wording it, but Richie understands anyway.

“I need to be there, Eds,” he says.

“Is something wrong?” Eddie asks. Softly. Cautiously.

Richie laughs, unsteady. “You could say that,” he says. “Listen, Eds, that summer hit us all differently, yeah? Killing the sewer clown?”

Eddie frowns, unsure where this is going. He gestures at Richie to go on.

“All I mean is the seven of us dealt with it in different ways.” Richie sighs, leans back against the chair. “For you and for Bev, for instance, it showed you that you could be brave. That you could be more than your weaknesses, that you were too powerful to be manipulated, that you both had your own agency and independence and despite your fears and your situations at home, you could conquer. That’s what it showed you, right? And I think that’s what it did for Bev, too.”

Eddie nods, remembering Bev in the aftermath of It. She’d looked out for them a lot, without their needing to ask. She’d known who’d needed help without their actively reaching out. She’d reminded them that she loved them just by being there.

She’d always been like that, Eddie knew. But after they’d defeated it, she’d become more confident in herself. Like she’d seen the worst horrors known to mankind and emerged from it still completely belonging to herself.

“Then, for some of us, the aftermath was pretty rough,” Richie says. “Like, for instance, Bill. The amount of guilt Bill felt just because of that clown….” He mimes something blowing up, whispers a _boom._ “Bill carried that guilt, that remorse, that sorrow over Georgie, for very long. Even when we emerged triumphant, what did he have left? He couldn’t get his little brother back.”

Eddie looks at Richie, and Richie looks right back at him.

“For Bill, remembering is going to hurt in a big way,” Richie says, soft and sad. “There’s no question about it.”

“But Stan….” Eddie murmurs. “Stan is… he’s always been in control, hasn’t he? That’s why you used to call him Stan the Man, right? Because he was reliable? Wise beyond his years?”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” Richie says. “I don’t know what you studied to get the job you’ve gotten today, but did you ever take physics? Enough physics, say, to know that there’s no way a particular force can exist in the world the way it is without getting worn out? That stress and tension and friction can wear out and whittle down practically anything?”

“Those are just metaphors, asshole,” Eddie says.

“But Spaghetti, they’re really not,” Richie says back, his voice softer. “Do you think being in control all the time is easy? Nobody can do that. Nobody can carry the weight of all that emotional stress. Not even Stan.” 

Eddie nods, finally understanding what Richie’s saying.

“So we’re going to Atlanta,” he says to Richie. “Should we, I don’t know, get Stan something? Bird merchandise?”

“Oh my god, that sounds like you want to get him stuffed birds,” Richie says, and guffaws. “If you do something like that, Stan will throttle you. Taxidermy is _so_ not his thing.”

“Excuse _you_ , I would never,” Eddie huffs. “What do you want to get him, Trashmouth? A living, breathing, talking parrot?”

Richie beams. “That would be neat, I imagine.”

“We could train the parrot to say ‘Beep Beep, Richie,’” Eddie suggests.

He is not surprised when Richie socks him in the arm in response. It’s very gentle, barely even hurts.

“Was I meant to feel something?” he asks. “You know, you call _me_ Spaghetti, but your arms must’ve been literal noodles for that to have such less impact.”

Richie glares at him, but there’s a smile under that expression that’s threatening to break free.

He’s about to say something, but then his phone goes off, and his eyes widen. He picks it up, unlocks it, and reads something off the screen. Then, pale and with an unreadable expression, he hands his phone to Eddie.

Eddie gives him a worried look, but takes his phone. Richie’s been reading a twitter thread that Bev posted probably a minute ago, and she’s mentioned him in it.

“Hm, she reached out before we could, huh?” Eddie says to himself.

“I don’t think she fully remembers who I am,” Richie says. “But I’m glad she knows I’d support her.”

**I’m usually not very forthcoming when it comes to things like this – I prefer to be a private person, as much as I can be, but I’ve been thinking about the value of using my experiences as a survivor to make other survivors of domestic violence feel less alone,** Bev’s thread starts out.

Eddie feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He makes himself take a deep breath. Richie puts a hand on his thigh, close to his knee. Eddie puts his hand right on top of it, letting his fingers press against Richie’s knuckles.

**Saw Richie Tozier’s tweets earlier today, re: trauma survivors and expectations people have of us, and it felt a little like a premonition. Here’s his thread on that, in case anyone missed it. [link]**

**A lot of people ask why victims remain in abusive and toxic situations, and I think a lot of the time it’s because you feel helpless, you don’t know how to reach out and leave, and you don’t have a good support system or the reassurance that if you move, you will be safe.**

**I’ve been talking to people who work in this field, and with some input from my social worker and activist friends, am working on developing a charity that will offer assistance to people who feel stuck in abusive relationships with the intent of helping them see that there are better options that are in their reach, and to hold on to hope.**

**Ultimately, I want to help build a support system/ network, so that nobody in such a situation feels like they are weak or they are alone. I want to help create a safe space where there is no stigma in saying that you are a survivor of intimate partner violence.**

**I want to help make a world where nobody feels as if this is something they have to settle for. Right now, this is still something I’m planning and working on, but it is definitely happening.**

**If anyone has any suggestions, ideas, or wants to collaborate or participate in some way, feel free to reach out to me. Stay safe, and take care of yourselves best as you can. I’m rooting for you every step of the way.**

Eddie blinks. Hands the phone back to Richie, doesn’t say anything.

Richie types something, and then Eddie’s phone glows. Embarrassing, maybe, that he hasn’t turned his twitter notifications for Richie off. Eddie doesn’t care. He probably isn’t going to. 

Eddie looks at the notification. Richie’s quote-retweeted Bev’s thread with the words, **Bev, you queen. This is absolutely phenomenal** followed by a sparkly heart emoji.

“I’m going to wash my face,” Eddie says, not looking at Richie.

He doesn’t know what else to do, or to say. He just feels shaky inside in a way that he doesn’t want Richie to see.

He spends almost ten minutes in the bathroom after washing his face, just sitting in the bathtub and forcing himself to take deep, even breaths. He counts in his head, skipping multiples of seven, works on distracting himself from the horrible empathetic pain that’s reminding him of Bev, a survivor of abuse twice over: two times too many.

When he returns, Richie’s sitting on the sofa, eating ice-cream, his laptop open.

“I’m looking at flights to Atlanta,” he tells Eddie. “Any preferences?”

“Nah,” Eddie says. “I think I’m pretty flexible. Can’t stay very long though, I technically have a job here.”

Richie looks at him for a moment, something soft and unreadable in his gaze.

“We can do three days, right?” Richie asks. “That’ll work, won’t it?”

Eddie thinks for a minute, and then nods. “Should be okay, yeah.”

He watches Richie look up flights silently, barely offering any suggestion or comment, and pretends to miss the worried looks Richie’s trying to subtly shoot him.

Richie’s never been good at subtle, though.

“Something’s bothering you,” he says.

“Beep beep,” Eddie says, the best non-answer he has. But that’s not fair, is it? Richie’s just trying to help.

“A lot of things are bothering me,” Eddie says. “Why is life so difficult for the seven of us?”

Richie snorts as if it’s funny, but the look in his eyes is bitter. “Tell me about it.”

Eddie’s silent.

“How’re you holding up, overall, though?” Richie asks. And Eddie hears something in it, a question Richie wouldn’t ever ask outright, maybe. A _are you happy to be here with me? Is this helping?_

Maybe he’s thinking too hard about this. Overanalysing, reading the situation wrong.

“I’m okay,” Eddie says, and hopes it’s true. “It’s comforting being here with you.” And then, because his mouth is not to be trusted, he blurts out: “Would you have come for me?”

“Uh, what?” Richie asks. He looks confused, as if he didn’t see that coming from Eddie. And Eddie understands, really, because he didn’t expect himself to say it, either.

“You’re dropping everything to be with Stan right now,” Eddie says, hating himself a little as he says it. “Would you have done that for me?”

Richie looks stunned, at an absolute loss for words. Eddie wants to say, _wow, now you shut up, dude? Is this the time you’re choosing to go silent?_ but something inside him hurts. Maybe he shouldn’t have put Richie on the spot like that. It’s fine if Richie doesn’t want to do that for him, isn’t it? It’s alright.

But Richie’s looking at him dead seriously, and maybe Eddie’s easier to read than he’d thought because the next thing Eddie knows, one of Richie’s arms curls around him, pulling him to his side.

“Eddie,” Richie says, gently. “Of course I would have. I’m sorry if I seemed taken aback, I just didn’t expect you to question it. I’ve always tried to be there for you when you need me, and I will always do that, for as long as I’m able to. Okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, but a small part of him is still questioning this. Is still wondering why Richie had waited for Eddie to take the first step, to make the first move, to uproot and move over into his space. Is he intruding? Does Richie not want him here?

“What cogs are turning in that little spaghetti head of yours?” Richie asks, but it’s still in the same gentle, careful tone.

“You want me here,” Eddie says, intonating it like a question. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Richie says. “Very much.”

They’re both silent for a minute, and then Richie says, “Listen. There are two reasons I didn’t drop everything and run to you, and the first one is that when you reminded me, I needed time to process. It felt a little like my world had ended, you know? Remembering the fucking clown, and the bigotry we all lived through, back in Derry?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah,” he says. There isn’t really anything he can add to that.

“The second reason,” Richie says, and the way he’s intonating makes Eddie think that this is the important part, this is the bit that Richie would highlight if he could. “The second reason was mostly just that you didn’t sound like you needed it.”

“I….what?” Eddie asks.

“You’ve always been so brave,” Richie says. “Braver than me, that’s for sure. And when you spoke to me, and were discussing plans and getting the others back and we were just talking about our lives, I mean. I missed you of course, and I would’ve loved to see you, but I didn’t feel like there was any urgency. I felt like we had a lot of future ahead of us. I’m delighted that you’re here now, honestly.”

 _Delighted,_ Eddie wants to echo back. The word sounds strange, somehow, coming from Richie.

Instead, he repeats, “Urgency?”

“I told you I’m worried about Stan, right?” Richie says, carefully. “I think being there with him would help him come to terms with the clown stuff. But I wasn’t worried about that with you, because you sounded like you’d already come to terms with remembering, mostly. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. Something slots into place in his mind. “I came here because I was worried about you.”

“And you had every right to be,” Richie says, and it’s rawer than whatever Eddie’d been expecting him to say in response. Richie can probably tell, because he gives him a too-bright smile, pulls the laptop closer to them and goes on as if nothing’s really happening. “So. Flight tickets? These ones seem to fit our purpose best, and aren’t too expensive. Should I book?”

“Book them,” Eddie says, softly but with conviction. He rests his head on Richie’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might be putting this on a bit of a hiatus. hopefully not much, but for the first time in 2 years i feel like writing about my OCs so! that is something that i am going to do. i will also keep doing this, but i unfortunately have to divide my time between uni, writing, and everything else that being alive entails :/ fingers crossed, i guess! (this fic is like my baby i am Not abandoning it) 
> 
> i love & appreciate all comments!! if you said something that i did not respond to, it's because i've been Big Tired recently :(( but i promise i appreciate it!! 
> 
> hope everyone's doing well <3

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if these author's notes seem choppy, it's 3AM here and i have 3 different things due this week and i am only done with one of those things. i promise i love y'all very much !


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